


Worthy of Survival

by kesdax



Series: Violence and Variations [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: Seven of Nine and the rest of Voyager search for a missing crew member.





	1. 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the beginning of S6

Threkkle berry pie, the talaxian had called it with pride, presenting the plate of food with a flourish.

Seven of Nine stared at the small green berries, the colour of lichen, that sat atop pale pastry oozing with cream. The colour reminded her uncomfortably of the inside of a borg cube and she glanced at Neelix, observing his eager smile and knew that to simply refuse would hurt his feelings.

“My grandmother would make this for me when I was boy,” Neelix told her wistfully. “It was my favourite comfort food.” He was staring off into the distance, Seven and the ship momentarily forgotten as his thoughts filled of home and youth.

“Comfort food?” Seven queried. It was not a term she had come across before and she frowned, glancing down at the berries spread over the plate, their juices overflowing, thick and green like pus. It did not look very comforting to her at all.

“Oh, you know,” said Neelix, taking the seat opposite Seven and smiling at her brightly. “Food you enjoy. Food that you eat after a hard day that makes you feel better. For me it’s threkkle berry pie, for Tom Paris it’s pizza. B’Elanna has replicated those banana pancakes of hers more times than I can count. And I’m fairly sure the captain will eat anything if tastes like coffee.”

Frowning, Seven eyed the piece of pie in front of her once again, failing to understand Neelix’s explanation. “Nourishment cannot make a person ‘feel better’,” she stated in her most cool, rational voice and pushed the plate away from her with a sense of finality.

Neelix sighed and picked up a fork. “Will you at least try it?” he asked, holding the utensil out to her. “You never know, you might like it.” He grinned hopefully.

Seven doubted it. She eyed the pie with distaste one last time, sighing as she took the utensil Neelix offered her. “One bite,” she relented and chose to ignore the triumphant look on Neelix’s face.

It was as awful as she thought it would be. Sour and sweet and textures both soft and hard and was that nip on her tongue from the pastry? Her mouth began to burn. Seven coughed and glared at Neelix.

“I only put in the one pepper,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. He, more than anyone, was aware of Seven’s intolerence for spicy foods. Or, for that matter, her intolerance for anything with flavour. Neelix seemed to take her bland taste in food as a personal insult and was determined to find her something “tasty” to eat. “The recipe says to add five.”

The swirling mixture of flavours and sensations was far too much for Seven’s tastebuds to handle. Eagerly she reached for her glass of water, gulping it down until the taste was gone from her mouth. There was a dull, pulsing ache from the spice still on her tongue, in her throat, and she knew in a few hours her stomach would be burning with protest.

“So,” said Neelix, sounding disappointed as he lifted the plate away from her. “No threkkle berry pie?”

“No,” Seven agreed, glad when he took the offending plate away. She watched him warily as he went into his galley, concerned that he would bring out more dishes for her to try. When he did not reappear after a few moments, she knew she was safe.

She could feel curious eyes on her from some of her crewmates. Ignoring them, Seven picked up her PADD and went back to the calculations she had been working on before Neelix had accosted her into trying his infamous pie. Seven was used to it by now, the overt glances of dislike she received from _Voyager’s_ crew. Her actions were alien to them, too far removed from the human she appeared to be.

Too borg-like.

Without letting it show, Seven’s skin prickled uncomfortably under the scrutiny. No one was ever openly hostile with her - well, with the exception of B’Elanna Torres anyway - but Seven had been on _Voyager_ long enough to know how the majority of the crew felt about her. It didn't seem to matter what she did, how many times she had helped to save the ship, some of the crew just couldn't see past the borg implants.

The thought had barely crossed her mind when Seven felt a pressure against the ocular implant surrounding her left eye. She didn’t move as the small finger continued to probe and only reacted when Naomi Wildman’s hand dropped to her side, frowning slightly at the child. Torn between annoyance and amusement, Seven waited for Naomi to explain. Naomi had become more comfortable with her the past year, bolder and far more accepting of Seven’s past as a borg drone than anyone else on the ship.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Seven replied patiently. She could tell the child had more questions and, as she currently still had some time remaining until she had to return to her duty shift, Seven decided to stay and listen to what she had to say.

“Well,” said Naomi, not deterred by Seven’s monosyllabic response. “I bet it itches.”

Seven responded with a quirk of her eyebrow, the cortical implant moving slightly as she observed Naomi Wildman.

“It makes you see better, right?”

“I have a visual acuity superior to most humanoids,” Seven agreed.

“So…” Naomi pursed her lips together in thought, but Seven suspected the child had this conversation planned out, that she knew exactly what she wanted to ask. The pauses were merely for dramatic effect. “If you can see better, how come you’re not the one flying _Voyager_ all the time?”

“Because I am not a helmsman,” Seven replied simply. “Nor do I have any desire to be.”

Naomi’s lips twitched into a smirk; a look Seven had come to know all too well. It usually meant she was about to get talked into an evening of kadis-kot or the rest of her duty shift would be joined by Naomi, eager to try out what she had learned most recently on _Voyager’s_ long range sensors. She was determined that, one day, she would discover the next greatest phenomenon of the Delta Quadrant. The Naomi Wildman Anomaly. Seven never discouraged her, seeing no logical reason why the child couldn’t achieve her ambitions one day. She certainly spent enough of her time in astrometrics.

“Then what _do_ you desire?” Naomi asked. _Ah,_ Seven thought, now they were getting to the point of the discussion. “And don’t say ‘perfection’,” Naomi added quickly. Seven pressed her lips tightly together, wondering how Naomi could possibly have known that was her answer.

But perfection was a borg desire. Along with her implants, that goal was one of the few things she had kept from the collective. Her pursuit of perfection was not as... _destructive_ as the borg’s and the Doctor, in his never ending quest to teach her every nuance of humanity, had told her many times that flaws are what make a person unique.

Seven, however, had never seen any reason why she couldn't be both perfect and unique at the same time.

Naomi was still looking at her expectantly, eyes hard and jaw set determinedly. She could wait here all day for an answer. Unlike Seven, who had work to be getting on with and a growing sense of unease the longer this conversation continued. She stood up abruptly, watched the small pout of lips and eyes that shimmered with disappointment. Sighing, Seven calculated how many times Naomi Wildman had given her this particular look and how many times Seven, unwittingly, had given into it. No one on the ship could manipulate her quite like the five year old.

“Fine,” Seven sighed eventually, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when Naomi grinned delightedly. “I desire… peace and quiet.” Naomi frowned and Seven quickly left the mess hall before Naomi could request a different answer. It wasn’t going to be that easy, she knew, and held back the smirk when she felt the warm press of Naomi’s body against her leg.

Peace and quiet, it seemed, was not in her foreseeable future.

“But don’t you have any ambitions?” Naomi asked, as if there hadn’t been a minute break in their conversation. Her short legs struggled to keep up with Seven’s brisk, longer strides, her breath leaving her body in a ragged rush. “Don’t you want to join Starfleet? Captain your own ship one day?”

Seven tilted her head slightly, glancing at Naomi. Those were the child’s aspirations, not hers. Did she have any ambitions of her own?

Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One had been severed from the collective over two years ago. She had spent those first days, weeks, with nothing but the silence for company. Her thoughts no longer of the many, she had only one, single strong desire, fueled by the fear of her returning individuality. _Return to the borg, become one with the collective._ Over time, the urge lessened, she came to accept she was no longer a drone. The fear remained, though; her difficulty with coming to terms with her own humanity kept her distant, restrained from the crew. With the Doctor’s lessons and the captain’s gentle urgings, Seven slowly tried to find her place on the ship. It took awhile, but eventually she began to leave the borg behind. She replaced one collective with another, but did not share her crewmates enthusiasm for getting home.

The Alpha Quadrant would mean leaving _Voyager_ , her collective… her home.

Her family.

“No,” Seven said eventually, her voice cold from the uncertainty of what the future would bring.

“But-”

“Naomi Wildman,” Seven said sharply. She paused, took a breath, aware that a couple of ensigns on their way to engineering were eyeing the two of them with keen interest. No doubt the entire ship would know about their conversation by the end of the day. Seven waited for them to pass, glared at their backs until they could no longer linger without it being obvious and looked down at Naomi, perhaps her closest friend on the ship after the Doctor and the captain. “You will cease with this line of questioning.”

Naomi looked up at her with confusion and hurt in her young eyes and Seven wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t raised her voice, that she could somehow erase their conversation, return to the mess hall and Neelix’s disgusting threkkle berry pie.

“I am sorry,” Seven said with some difficulty. She was getting better at modifying her actions when it came to interacting with the crew, not giving into her impulse to be brisk, efficient. Idle small talk was a waste of time, irrelevant and Seven would rather avoid it at all costs. It made her appear rude and unapproachable, she knew, and even with the Doctor’s lessons she still found days where she struggled to fit in.

With Naomi it was different. Seven had never felt the need to alter her behaviour around her. The girl accepted it without question. She adapted to Seven’s latent borg nature and wasn’t afraid of it. She made Seven feel like she belonged on _Voyager_.

So whenever Seven said or did something to upset her, she felt the turmoil of it with a deep ache in her heart.

“It’s okay,” Naomi muttered. Eyes firmly on her feet so she wouldn’t have to look at Seven, Naomi turned to leave, looking thoroughly miserable. Seven wanted to stop her, take her harsh words away and replace them with something soothing that would put the smile back on Naomi’s face, but she didn’t know how. Seven of Nine, the borg, had the knowledge of a thousand assimilated species and yet Seven, the human, could find nothing within that vastness to help her communicate just how sorry she was.

Naomi, not paying attention in her haste to get away from Seven, walked into a passing crewmember. She glanced up with widened eyes, startled to find the captain staring down at her with amusement flickering across her face. Naomi stumbled back a few steps, finding refuge in Seven’s touch as she placed a hand on Naomi’s elbow, gently pulling her aside so the captain and her companion could pass.

“Miss Wildman,” said the captain. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Um,” Naomi stammered, glancing at Seven with a pleading look. The captain could be rather intimidating, even without trying. Seven raised an eyebrow, knowing just how much Naomi wanted to impress the captain; she was hoping to become bridge assistant one day, when both the captain and her mother decided she was old enough. And until that time, Naomi did everything she could to prove she was a natural for the position. Being friendly and helpful with the crew, dedicating herself to her studies and even taking on the extra work Seven gave her. Seven was impressed she managed to find time in her busy schedule to weedle as many games of kadis-kot out of her as she did.

For the first time, Seven became uncomfortably aware of the alien accompanying the captain. Tall and thin, flesh of green scales that darkened at the cone-shaped point of the top of his head. His face was bisected by a red stripe that travelled from the back of his head, round past the tall forehead before stopping at the tip of his flat nose. His oval shaped eyes burned a bright orange, the slitted pupils widening as he stared at Naomi; a look of unmistakable hunger that had Seven tighten her grip on Naomi’s elbow ever so slightly. She had met the alien briefly the day before and had not cared for him then either. He was a tregtar; a trader, of anything and everything, and he certainly had a few things _Voyager_ needed. Seven had spent the morning correlating their most recent astrometric data. The star charts would be exchanged for a dilithium catalytic converter that engineering had been in desperate need of for months and the captain closed the deal smoothly, confident _Voyager_ had gotten the better end of the deal.

“A child?” the alien said, his tongue hissing around the words. He turned to the captain. “I wasn’t aware your ship had children.”

“Just the one.” The captain studied their guest carefully for a moment and with a diplomacy that came naturally to her, explained how Naomi had been born on the ship. She had grown up on _Voyager_.

“Fascinating.” The alien reached out a clawed hand, the tips not quite touching the now pale skin of Naomi’s cheek. “So this ship… space… it’s all you have ever known?”

Naomi said nothing and Seven could feel her trembling beneath her hand. “Naomi Wildman. You should return to your quarters.”

Grateful for the chance to escape, Naomi rushed off without a word. The alien’s eyes lingered on her as she fled, not stopping even though she barely missed tumbling into a startled science officer.

Seven felt her distaste for the alien rising. She was unfamiliar with his species; the borg had never assimilated the T’Var. Not yet, anyway. But any species who managed to elude the borg left Seven feeling uneasy.

“We should get you back to your ship, Tregtar Kovo,” said the captain. Some of the diplomacy had left her voice. Clearly she didn’t like his fascination with Naomi Wildman either.

“Yes, of course,” Kovo hissed with his alien tongue as the captain led him towards the transporter room.

Unsettled but glad the alien was now on his way off the ship, Seven resumed her way to astrometrics. _Voyager_ would be leaving this sector soon and it was her job to chart the most efficient and safe route back to the Alpha Quadrant. The panel next to the turbolift beeped at her as she approached, indicating that it was currently in use. Seven waited patiently with her hands clasped behind her back, thoughts on what she could do to make up for her earlier acerbity with Naomi. Somehow, she doubted kadis-kot was going to work this time.

“You and Naomi Wildman have been spending a lot of time together.” Seven suppressed a shiver as Captain Janeway’s low, husky voice brushed against her ear. Glancing over her shoulder, Seven observed the captain standing a few inches behind her, eyes on the turbolift ahead. For a moment, Seven wondered if she had imagined the captain’s voice. Then their eyes met and Seven found herself looking away, suddenly uncomfortable but unsure as to why.

“Indeed,” she said carefully. “She is an… interesting individual.” Janeway let out a breath that took Seven a moment to realise was a muffled laugh. “She can also be rather irritating,” Seven added, only considering at the last second that she probably shouldn’t have said that. The captain took a keen interest in her social development and Seven didn’t want her to think her encouragement was for naught.

This time, the captain didn’t try to hide her amusement. “Seven, that hardly means much coming from you. You find everyone irritating.”

“On the contrary,” said Seven. The turbolift doors swished open and Seven stepped aside to allow Ensign Jenkins to pass by them. “I find your company rather pleasant.” She got into the turbolift, her ocular implant rising slightly when she realised the captain wasn’t following her, instead staring at her with a surprised look on her face and a warmth in her eyes that sent a ripple of pleasure squirming in Seven’s belly.

“High praise,” said the captain, recovering quickly and following Seven into the turbolift. “Deck one,” she instructed the computer. Instantly, the turbolift thrummed, it’s soft vibrations the only indication they were being carried through _Voyager’s_ decks. The captain rested a hand on the side of the turbolift, the other against her hip; Seven watched out of the corner of her eye, envious of the captain’s ability to appear casual no matter the situation. “We still on for velocity?” Janeway asked and Seven quickly averted her gaze, eyes on the door.

“Of course.”

“Think you’ll win this time?”

Seven’s muscles stiffened slightly, aware that the captain was making fun of her. It was no secret between them that Seven was growing ever more frustrated with her inability to beat the captain at the simple game. And the captain took far too much delight in it.

Scowling, Seven forced herself to ignore the smirk dancing across her captain’s face. “We shall see.”

*

Seven ducked as the small grey disk, made of photons and force fields, bounced off the aft wall and came hurling towards her. She whirled on her heels, phaser held steadily in her hand as her borg enhanced eyesight allowed her to track the disk’s movements.

_Not yet_ , she thought. In the game of velocity, timing was everything. Fire her phaser too soon and she could misjudge the disk’s trajectory. But wait too long… and her opportunity, her advantage, would be lost. This was where the human fallacy of “intuition” came into play. Seven had never been very good at following that, unsure if she even had any of her own. She much preferred her knowledge of the laws of physics and the precise calculations that her cortical implant allowed her to carry out within microseconds. She knew exactly _when_ she had to hit the disk and she knew _where_ it would end up.

The only problem was she forgot, once again, to factor in her opponent. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the disk, but that meant she had no idea where Janeway was positioned. The game would be much simpler if it were single player, Seven reflected idly. Although she doubted she would enjoy it as much without the captain’s company.

_Now,_ Seven thought and fired her phaser. But the captain was quicker, her shot bouncing the disk back towards Seven, so fast that she didn’t have time to calculate, only knowing she had to move. She dived out of the way, sliding along the holodeck floor before stopping in a heap of limbs against the starboard wall. Muscles in her neck and shoulder twinged in protest but she ignored it, jumping to her feet as her eyes sought out the elusive disk.

It was already rushing back towards the captain, giving her a clear shot, a clear advantage.

_No_.

Seven moved with a speed that only her borg enhancements could give her, determined not to lose the game, not this time. Positioning was just as important as timing in a game of velocity and, right now, Janeway had the better position. But not for long. Her shoes skidded along the floor, designed to give a firm grip and a manoeuvrability that was essential to the game. Briefly, she considered how being barefoot would have provided her with less friction, but it would have left her with less control too. And control wasn’t something she could afford to lose at this stage of the game.

But the captain was determined too. And whether it was her intuition or she had simply calculated that Seven was going to reach the disk first, it didn’t matter. She was moving too, eyes on the disk and phaser ready to fire.

In the middle of the holodeck, the two women collided.

Seven’s speed hit the captain with a force that sent her body flying to the ground with a heavy thump. The momentum caused Seven to stumble, her feet becoming entangled with the captain’s and she, too, fell to the deck. Her fall was softened by the captain who let out a grunt of air when Seven landed heavily on top of her and the two of them lay still for a moment, breathing heavily.

Beneath her, the captain’s body was pleasantly soft and warm against her own. Seven pushed herself up slightly and as her eyes locked with her captain’s, she felt the breath catch in her throat. She wasn’t used to such prolonged contact with another living being, with another human. It had never seemed relevant before. But she had observed her crewmates many times, done extensive research and knew their current position was a rather compromising one.

That thought sent an uncomfortable flutter through Seven’s stomach. She could feel the captain’s heavy breathing underneath her, felt each exhale brush against the sensitive skin of her neck and struggled not to shiver in response.

Then the captain was smirking at her. Seven’s eyes narrowed. She had completely forgotten about their game, about the disk whirring above their heads. But the captain hadn’t and fired her phaser with barely a glance towards what she was aiming at.

Seven sat up abruptly as the disk flew up towards the ceiling, realising far too late that she had lost her phaser. It must have slipped out of her hand during her crash with the captain and it now lay halfway across the room, far out of her reach. She tried to move out of the way, dismayed to find the captain’s heels digging into her ankles and holding her in place. She had enough time to glance up, watch the disk as it rushed towards her. And, although it was made of simple photons and force fields and left nothing more than a faint tickling sensation against her skin, she flinched when it bounced against the side of her head before spinning away somewhere behind her.

“ _Round to Janeway. Janeway wins six rounds to four.”_

Furious, Seven clenched her jaw tightly as she stared down at the smug face of Captain Janeway. “That was cheating.”

“That’s velocity.” The captain grinned.

Evidently, there were still some rules to this game that Seven had to learn.

“You’re getting better,” the captain observed.

“Hardly.” Sixty-four games they had played together and Seven had yet to win a single one of them. She had come close a few times, ending the game on a draw. But always the captain bested her, always proving that borg perfection wasn't everything.

Seven was well beyond annoyed at this point.

She had enhanced stamina, superior visual acuity and had spent more hours than she cared to admit studying famous games and strategies; by all accounts, she should be winning every game with ease. Even if she didn't have the benefit of her borg implants, she was younger than Janeway by a good number of years. In all scenarios, Seven had the advantage. And yet, in every game, she lost.

It was infuriating.

The captain's amusement was still there, brightening her features and making her appear almost as young as Seven. As annoyed as she was, Seven still liked to see that look on her captain's face. That smile that was so rare, that the captain only allowed so few to experience and even then it was a rare sight in the Delta Quadrant. But the amusement slipped from the familiar joviality at Seven’s expense to something more hesitant, the captain's eyebrow quirking slightly as she stared up at Seven. Only then did Seven of Nine remember where she was, where _they_ were. On the floor of the holodeck; the captain lying on her back with Seven straddling her hips.

It wasn't a position Seven found herself in every day. Or ever, for that matter.

And she quickly got to her feet, stepping away from the captain. Her heavy breathing had nothing to do with her recent physical activity. She felt her skin grow hot and hoped whatever part of her remained borg was doing its best not to let it show. She hadn't felt this flustered since her botched first date with the engineering officer, Ensign Chapman. That wasn't an experience she was in any hurry to repeat, the uncomfortable tightness in her stomach - which the Doctor referred to as “butterflies” - had not left her for days afterwards. And here it was again. It was worse than the fear she felt at returning to the Alpha Quadrant, at seeing Earth and the birthplace of humanity for the first time since she was a child. Since she had been assimilated.

The captain pushed herself up, clutching her left side as she grunted in pain. All of Seven’s uneasy feelings of embarrassment were quickly forgotten, her eyes assessing the captain. She dropped to her knees at Janeway’s side and didn’t bother asking for permission as she lifted the red sleeveless shirt the captain favoured during their velocity games. A deep red discolouration was forming beneath the captain’s skin, a deadly contrast to her otherwise pale flesh. Without the aid of a tricorder to assess the situation, Seven ran a finger along the bruise. It was warm beneath her fingertip and the captain flinched away from her with a groan.

“You have several broken ribs,” Seven told her. _Internal bleeding_ , she added to herself with a modicum of shame and she felt that uneasy feeling return. Their fall had been rougher than she realised. But, of course, she was borg. The captain was just human, frail and weak and she had taken the brunt of the fall, her fragile body unable to compete with borg strength. “We must get you to sickbay.”

“I’m fine,” the captain said predictably. And, in an effort to prove it not only to Seven but to herself, she forced herself to stand up.

Seven was ready, unsurprised when Janeway wavered, dangerously close to falling back to the hard floor of the deck. Seven steadied her with a firm hand on her arm and a look of mild annoyance on her face at how stubborn the captain could be. “I shall accompany you.”

Janeway looked like she was ready to protest, but the jolt of pain that caused her to double-over slightly rather ruined the effect. She clutched a hand to her side as if that could somehow restrain the pain and ward off the inevitable visit to sickbay. When Seven pointed out that the captain could either walk to sickbay with Seven’s assistance or have her visit recorded in the transporter logs, Janeway glowered in annoyance but gave in. The last thing she wanted was the entire ship finding out their captain was a mere mortal. But things had a way of spreading throughout _Voyager_ as if with a life of its own. Even Seven was not immune. She knew far more intimate knowledge about her crewmates than she wanted. Ensign Tal Celes from astrometrics had a tendency to talk incessantly, regardless of whether or not Seven cared for the topic of conversation. Perhaps if the young bajoran focused more on her work and less on the ship’s gossip, she wouldn’t make as many mistakes, Seven thought ruefully.

Sickbay was a short walk one deck up. The captain stubbornly held her head up high and refused Seven’s help, clutching her side and gritting her teeth against the pain. Seven kept one eye on her captain, ready to reach out and steady her should Janeway stumble. But she did not, obstinately reaching sickbay with the aura of someone who believed she had far more important things to do.

The Doctor was already activated, humming absently to himself as he tapped at a data PADD. His back to the door, he did not hear the two women enter and the hologram’s light humming increased in tempo, his deep voice effortlessly flowing into the song. His favourite opera, Seven knew, _Bella Figlia Dell'amore_ ; a vocal quartet that the Doctor had been trying to master for weeks. He was having trouble balancing the four parts and even with Seven’s help (although it had been somewhat reluctantly that she had accompanied him to the holodeck), he had yet to perfect the performance.

As the song reached its crescendo, the Doctor’s hand began to wave vigorously in time with the music. Seven glanced at Janeway, seeing her own amusement reflected in her captain's twitching lips. The Doctor was completely oblivious to his audience, absorbed in the song as if nothing else mattered or ever would. And just when they thought it was over, it started up again, the Doctor never missing a note, never out of breath. Seven felt rather than saw Janeway roll her eyes. Apparently her tolerance for the Doctor’s personality quirks could only go so far.

“Doctor,” said the captain and then again, a little more forcefully, when the Doctor didn't respond.

He heard her the second time. Letting out a startled yelp, the Doctor jumped and whirled around to face them. In his haste he knocked over several pieces of equipment and Seven thought if he wasn’t composed of photonic energy, if he were human, then he would be blushing a deep shade of crimson right about now.

“C-captain,” he stammered. “Seven. I didn't…” His face hardened and he forced himself to stand up straighter, holding his head up in that superior way of his. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” said Janeway, taking a seat on the edge of the nearest biobed. The pain in her side dampened most of her amusement and she winced with the movement.

“You're injured,” said the Doctor, immediately switching to his medical programming, his primary function although he had evolved far beyond that in the five years he had been active. He grabbed a medical tricorder and began scanning the captain with it.

“Just a little holodeck accident.” The captain hand waved him away, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Starship captains made terrible patients.

“Little?” The Doctor looked positively outraged. “You look like you went a few rounds with a couple of klingons. And lost,” he added in his most disapproving voice.

Seven stiffened. Had she really hurt the captain that much? Had she been so determined to win the frivolous game that she lost all control of herself, forgotten what she was? She was dangerous, even severed from the collective. The borg in her would always dominate her humanity. Two years on _Voyager_ had made her complacent, made her forget. She wasn’t like the others. She may have been born Annika Hansen, may be encouraged to explore her humanity, but she would never be one of them.

“I'm all for regular exercise,” the Doctor continued to lecture his patient. “Especially when it comes to an overworked captain who drinks far too much coffee.” He seemed oblivious to the glare Janeway threw in his direction. “But couldn't you do something a little less dangerous? Perhaps a nice gentle stroll along a beach.”

“Velocity’s hardly dangerous, Doctor,” said the captain, annoyance clipping her voice short.

“Hmph,” the Doctor grumbled and disappeared to go get the equipment he needed to repair her injuries.

Seven found herself alone with her captain and wished she could be anywhere else. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. How could she explain herself to the one person who put so much faith in her, so much trust? While everyone else aboard _Voyager_ had been skeptical about taking in a borg drone, Captain Janeway had never once doubted she couldn’t bring Seven back to humanity.

And with one, unthinking action, Seven had proved her wrong.

“Seven.” The captain’s voice was soft, familiar and Seven let it guide her gaze up, her eyes finding Janeway’s. She expected to see an icy anger. Instead all she found was a warmth full of worry. Seven swallowed and looked away, tightening her grip on the hands clasped behind her back. The implant on her left hand dug into the borg-free flesh of her right and she focused on the pain, wondering if she would bleed if she pressed hard enough. “Hey, I’m alright,” Janeway continued and Seven flinched, hating how the captain knew her so well, how she could always sense Seven’s inner turmoil with the clarity of a telepath.

“I must return to duty,” Seven said stiffly even though her duty shift had ended hours ago. She didn’t care that the captain would see through the obvious lie and walked out of sickbay before Janeway could stop her.


	2. 1.2

The lights in the shuttle bay were as bright as a system of twin stars. It reflected off the grey metallic hulls of _Voyager’s_ shuttle crafts, leaving them shimmering and giving them, for a moment, the illusion of movement. Several of _Voyager’s_ engineers could be found with tricorders in their hands as they scanned every inch of each shuttle, compiling a list of repairs that needed to be made, parts needing replaced.

Although she much preferred her work in astrometrics, Seven of Nine welcomed the extra duties engineering occasionally requested her help with. She liked to keep busy, be useful. She liked to earn her place here on _Voyager_.

“The _Cochrane_ needs its entire warp core replaced,” Seven informed _Voyager’s_ chief engineer as she double checked her tricorder readings. Unnecessary, as she knew she had interpreted them correctly the first time. But she knew her crewmates felt more at ease if she checked them again anyway. Human error, after all, was still a part of her developing humanity.

“Plasma leakages?” B’Elanna Torres guessed.

“Yes,” said Seven with a raise of an eyebrow. “The plasma will ignite the instant the shuttle goes into warp.”

“Wonderful,” B’Elanna muttered, making a note in her PADD. “Hey, Harry,” she called, glancing over her shoulder as Ensign Harry Kim popped his head out of the _Delta Flyer_. He, too, had been requisitioned to help engineering with the shuttle craft maintenance. “Take the warp core from the _Drake_ and put it in the _Cochrane_. That way we’ll only have to decommission one of them.”

“Good idea,” Harry replied.

The _Drake_ had even more malfunctions than the _Cochrane._ Life in the Delta Quadrant was definitely taking it’s toll, both on the ship and her crew. Without regular stops in dry dock for repairs - a Starfleet protocol that every Federation ship had to follow - _Voyager’s_ small crew was struggling to keep up with the regular maintenance. It didn't help that _Voyager_ had a tendency to find itself in trouble, whether looking for it or not. This part of the galaxy was hostile and dangerous. If it wasn't borg, it was the hirogen or any number of alien species that decided _Voyager_ and her crew were just too different to be allowed to continue their long journey home in peace. That coupled with this crew's almost insatiable curiosity and it was a wonder to Seven how the ship was still functioning.

It took Seven and Harry over an hour to remove the warp core from the _Drake_ and it was going to take them just as long to install it in the other shuttle. As they worked they could hear B’Elanna as she issued orders to the rest of the engineering crew, her mood dropping with each new problem found until they could hear her irate voice coming from the other side of the shuttlebay as if she were right there in the _Drake_ with them. At the string of klingon expletives that came next, Harry paused in his removal of the plasma relays.

“She's learned some new ones,” he said and when Seven raised an eyebrow, her only indication of amusement, he smiled. “Glad I'm in here.”

“Indeed,” Seven agreed. Though the majority of the ship’s engineers found B’Elanna’s volatile moods to be rather intimidating, Seven herself saw them as inefficient. While B’Elanna wasted time and energy complaining about whatever problem they had to deal with, Seven found she could use that time to actually do something productive and rectify the problem. She never could grasp the human need to complain about every insignificant grievance. Even the Doctor did it, perhaps more than most and he was only a holographic representation of a human being.

“I mean,” Harry continued as his fingers fumbled with the last relay. “It's nice.”

“Nice?”

“Well, I mean, it's not _nice…_ ” Harry dropped the hyperspanner he was using to tease the relay lose; his hands suddenly did not seem as sure of what they were doing and he quickly ducked his head, hand groping inside the conduit until he'd retrieved it again. “Well, it is… Um, well not the warp core removal part…”

Seven merely raised an eyebrow. She was used to the inefficient way humans communicated by now and even more so used to Harry Kim, who always seemed to struggle to get a sentence out whenever in her presence. She used to believe it had something to do with her being borg. After all, she _had_ knocked him out on the back of the head once and tried to contact the collective. She didn't really blame him for being nervous around her.

Harry sighed as if realising he was making a mess of whatever he was trying to say. “I just meant, I'd rather be in here working with you than out there. It's…”

“Nice?” Seven suggested with a smirk.

“Yes,” said Harry with some relief and smiled back. Then, shyly he added, “But I would rather we were somewhere more…”

Seven thought he was going to say “nice” again, but whatever it was he wanted to say was lost when B’Elanna’s head suddenly appeared through the shuttle hatch. “Aren't you two done yet?” she asked, exasperation hardening her voice.

Harry jumped, dropping his spanner again as his cheeks turned decidedly pink. “Um-”

“Yes,” said Seven and leaned gracefully over the ensign, removing the final relay with ease. Harry looked at her, dumbfounded for a moment. “Shall I begin installation on the _Cochrane_?”

“No,” B’Elanna sighed. “We've been at this for hours; may as well stop for lunch.”

“Lunch,” said Harry eagerly. In his rush to get to his feet, he banged his head against the bulkhead and his cheeks became darker in colour as the two women stared at him. Seven with her usual curiosity and B’Elanna with a mixture between annoyance and amusement, like she couldn't quite decide which was more appropriate. “Food sounds great,” he said, louder than necessary before making a hasty exit out of the shuttle craft. He muttered something to B’Elanna as he passed, too quiet for Seven to hear but whatever it was prompted B’Elanna to bite her lip. An indication, Seven knew, that she was trying desperately not to laugh. Seven had seen that look on her face before, usually in the middle of a meeting in the conference room, where suddenly bursting with mirth would be inadvisable in front of the captain and first officer.

“Is Ensign Kim ill?” Seven asked with genuine concern.

B’Elanna snorted. “He's not ill, no.” She looked at Seven for a moment, glanced over her shoulder where Harry had gone before resting a hand on her hip and fighting back a smirk. “He's just got a little crush.”

“Crush?” Seven frowned. It wasn't a term she was familiar with.

“Relax,” said B’Elanna, “it's not contagious. Well…” She eyed Seven up and down with an appreciative gleam in her eyes. “Not usually anyway.”

Seven had no idea what she meant by that and her frown deepened as she followed B’Elanna out of the shuttle. “Explain.”

“Maybe you should ask Harry,” B’Elanna suggested, all humour gone from her face. She now looked uncomfortable, like she wished she had never started this conversation. “Or the Doctor. He’s teaching you social stuff, right?”

“He is,” Seven agreed and while she valued the Doctor’s opinion and advice, there was always something lacking during his lessons. His own inexperience, Seven believed. He may look human, sound human, but only because he was programmed that way. He still had a long way to go with his own individuality, much like Seven still had a long way to go to reclaim her humanity. Perhaps that was why he took the reins in her social development, so he could learn something about himself.

The hologram and the borg. They made quite the double act.

Seven stayed behind while the engineering team left the shuttlebay for lunch. Even though she had been consuming solid food for close to two years now, Seven still found the experience unsettling and preferred to eat her required nutrients as two small meals: one early in the morning before her duty shift when the mess hall was quiet and then in the evening, when the majority of the crew filled the tables and braved Neelix’s latest dish. She took this time to practice her social skills, finding it easier and far more comfortable when she had something else to focus on, when she could easily avoid conversation by shoving a forkful of food in her mouth.

She never could quite grasp Neelix’s concept of “good food means good company”. It didn’t seem to matter who she was with, Neelix’s food was always an adventure of its own, with the crew either enjoying it with some degree of surprise or otherwise foregoing it entirely after one glance and using up their precious replicator rations instead.

It always baffled Seven what some of her fellow crew members chose to eat. The non-humans on _Voyager_ could often be found replicating dishes from their home planets, while others simply had a piece of fruit most definitely not native to the Delta Quadrant. Then there were people like Tom Paris, who Seven had observed on several occasions consuming what he called an “English breakfast”. It was the biggest plate of food Seven had ever seen, easily costing a day’s worth of rations and it made her feel nauseous and full just looking at it.

And then there were those that skipped meals entirely. In the one hundred and eighty seven times that Seven had observed the captain’s rare visits to the mess hall, she could not recall _Voyager’s_ commanding officer ever consuming anything more than the mug of strong coffee Neelix always had ready for her. Apparently this was deemed acceptable, however that had not stopped Neelix from regularly trying to get the captain to try his latest invention. Coffee, Seven understood, contained a drug that humanoids regularly ingested with an almost irrational enthusiasm. She had tried it once herself out of curiosity and did not enjoy the bitter, burning sensation that went down her throat.

Thoughts of the captain gave Seven pause. She hadn’t spoken to Janeway since their regrettable velocity match several days ago and she could still clearly remember the feel of the captain beneath her. Warm and soft and oh so very breakable.

Shame filled her and for a moment she struggled to focus on her repairs. Another reason why she was grateful for the extra work from engineering. Keeping busy meant she didn’t have to dwell on thoughts chaotic and overwhelming, didn’t have to remember the pain she had caused in her captain’s eyes.

“Whatchu doin’?”

Anyone else would have been startled by the sudden, small voice appearing from nowhere in the empty shuttle bay. But not Seven. She merely stiffened in acknowledgement that she was no longer alone, sparing the intruder a brief glance before returning to her repairs on the _Cochrane_ and wondering how Naomi Wildman had managed to sneak up on her.

“Re-aligning the sensor array,” Seven replied.

“Why?”

“Because it is malfunctioning,” Seven said simply.

“Why?” Naomi asked and Seven could hear the smile in her voice.

Seven sighed. “Because Starfleet technology is inefficient.” Before the next why could fall out of Naomi’s mouth, Seven glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the girl. She wasn’t quite up to producing a Janeway level of intimidating glare, not deliberately anyway and Naomi merely blinked at her nonchalantly in return. “Naomi Wildman,” she said frigidly. “Are you authorised to be in here?”

“Of course not,” said Naomi in a tone that suggested she thought Seven was being rather stupid. “I'm _five_.”

“Then perhaps you should return to your quarters.”

“But my quarters are _boring._ ”

“I am sure you will find something to amuse yourself with,” said Seven, returning to her repairs and expecting that to be the end of the discussion.

It wasn't.

Naomi followed her into the shuttle. “Can I visit your quarters?”

“I have no quarters,” Seven said with a touch of impatience. The child knew she regenerated in her borg alcove in cargo bay two. Unlike her crewmates, who had not been assimilated by the borg, Seven did not require sleep, therefore she did not need a bed or quarters of her own.

“But,” said Naomi, biting her lip as she hesitated with her next question. “Don't you want a place of your own?”

Seven paused, repairs momentarily forgotten. It was true that while she spent a good portion of her time in the cargo bay, it wasn't really _her_ space. Any member of the crew could walk in at anytime they liked and they often did just that, either forgetting that Seven resided there or simply not caring that they may be violating her privacy. It had bothered her, on more than one occasion, but there was little she could do about it. Her borg alcove, after all, used up a large quantity of the ship’s energy resources and was far too large to be housed anywhere else in the ship.

In the two years she had been on _Voyager,_ the issue of her living arrangements had never been discussed. Not because Seven was overly satisfied with the arrangement but because she felt it wasn't her place to complain. Captain Janeway and her crew had done a lot for Seven over the past two years; freeing her from the collective, supporting her in her recovering humanity, finding a place for her on board the ship. Seven was grateful in ways she could not express, often wishing for the collective hive mind that would allow her thoughts and feelings to become one with the crew. Instead she made herself as useful as possible, developing and integrating the long range sensors that allowed astrometrics to plot the fastest and safest route back to the Alpha Quadrant. She helped out in engineering when required, like she had been today, and she used all the knowledge she had assimilated and retained from the borg to improve _Voyager’s_ efficiency wherever she could.

She worked hard and asked for nothing in return, only wishing to have a place here on _Voyager,_ a home with her new collective.

It wasn't until Naomi Wildman brought up the obvious absence of a space of her own that Seven realised she was lacking something. Privacy, after all, was part of being an individual and Seven only now became aware of her desire to have a place of her own, where she could be alone with her thoughts without being disturbed, where she could carry out whatever side project that had captured her interest without fear of one of the crew interfering in her work.

But, Seven reflected, she wasn't a member of Starfleet. She didn't wear the uniform, didn't carry the pips of her rank proudly on her collar. In essence, she was nothing more than a refugee, a useful one perhaps, but what right did she have to demand more than _Voyager_ had already given her? More than the captain had already given her?

The shuttle bay doors opened with a whoosh, carrying in the chatty voices of the engineering team as they returned from lunch. Naomi’s eyes suddenly widened and she muttered a hasty goodbye to Seven before she bolted out of the shuttle to sneak past the engineers and out of the shuttlebay, no doubt apprehensive that her unauthorised visit would get back to her mother.

Seven’s lips twitched, the only indication of her amusement and fondness for _Voyager’s_ youngest crew member.

*

“Coffee, black.”

The replicator responded to her command immediately and Captain Kathryn Janeway inhaled the rich, familiar aroma of her favourite drink. The first sip was always the best and she savoured the bitter, tantalising taste, uncaring of the groan that sprang involuntarily from her mouth. She glanced at her first officer, daring him to say something. But Chakotay offered her nothing more than a faint smile, far beyond used to his captain’s addiction and her tendency to interrupt whatever they were discussing to get her latest fix.

“Continue,” said Janeway, settling onto the couch, crossing one leg over another as if she were off-duty and not the captain of a lone starship lost in the Delta Quadrant. But here, in the privacy of her ready room, alone but for her first officer whom she trusted implicitly, she felt the burden lift off her shoulders a little. Just enough to allow her to relax, if only for a few brief moments.

Chakotay resumed his departmental reports as if there had never been a break in the conversation. “Engineering have finished their maintenance of the shuttlebay. Looks like we’re going to be down at least two shuttles until we can requisition parts from somewhere.”

Janeway grunted into her mug. It wasn’t good news, but she hadn’t been expecting any better.

“And B’elanna said she looked into the sensor problems that’ve been reported throughout the ship,” said Chakotay.

“And?” said Janeway, frowning as she took another sip of coffee. It had been her understanding that the sensors malfunctions weren’t so much a problem as a mild inconvenience.

“She can’t find anything wrong with them, but said she’ll keep an eye on it at her end.”

The rest was pretty routine stuff and Janeway was glad she had gotten her coffee fix when she did, finding it difficult to focus on the commander’s voice. But it was a Starfleet protocol, a tradition in a way, for the ship’s first officer to relay the important information from each department to the captain. Even out here, so far away from Federation space, Janeway insisted on maintaining those protocols.

Her crew small, lost together for almost six years now, had developed a tighter bond with each other than was common to most Starfleet vessels. In a way, they had become family. And as head of that family, it was Janeway’s job to ensure each member of her crew were carrying out their duties to the best of their abilities, that the strain of being so far away from home wasn’t taking its toll to a debilitating effect. The ship had no counselor, no relief from constant duty… they only had each other out here. And after five years, Janeway did not believe for a second that the worst was behind them. Anything could happen in space, even in a quadrant familiar and charted, there was always room for the unexpected. But out here… every day brought a new challenge, a new danger.

“Captain?”

“Hmm?” Janeway glanced up, rubbing at the back of her neck as she realised she had been completely ignoring her first officer. She smiled at him apologetically, motioning for him to leave the PADD on the coffee table. Whatever she had missed she could read about later. Anything that was important, that required her immediate attention, would have been the first out of Chakotay’s mouth.

“Perhaps three cups of coffee just aren’t cutting it,” Chakotay said, his eyes twinkling slightly as they did whenever he dared tease the captain.

“Actually,” said Janeway, standing up and stretching. Her muscles protested with a sharp pain from her neck down to her lower back and she tried not to grimace. “This is my fifth.”

Chakotay chuckled lightly. “Ah… a case of overindulgence then?”

Janeway narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was referring to the coffee or something else. When he didn’t elaborate further, she downed the rest of her rapidly cooling beverage and placed the empty mug in the replicator to be recycled. Stepping down to the lower part of her ready room, Janeway rounded her desk, hand once again rubbing the back of her neck as she was unable to suppress the yawn that pushed its way forcefully out of her mouth. She was aware the humour had left Chakotay’s eyes, that he was now watching her with the concern that only a first officer could maintain in the presence of a Starfleet captain.

“Everything okay, Kathryn?”

The use of her first name told her he was asking as a friend, not as her first officer and she inclined her head slightly, silently letting him know his enquiry wasn’t overstepping. In fact, she was grateful for the moment to allow her command mask to fall, to remember that she was human, a woman with needs and worries just like everyone else on her ship.

Janeway sat heavily behind her desk and tried not to rub at her eyes. “Just a little tired,” she confessed. As a Starfleet officer, she was used to very little sleep. As she rose through the ranks of command, her responsibilities only increased and she was used to the late nights filled with paperwork and the burden of command. Now, as captain - as the _only_ Starfleet captain in the Delta Quadrant - her duties were greater than ever. She had skipped a night’s sleep on more than one occasion during the five years since they became lost here.

Chakotay frowned. “When was the last time you had a day off?” She could hear the concern in his voice, with just a touch of admonishment that left her wishing she had dismissed the first officer when she’d had the chance.

The truth was, she couldn’t remember. There hadn’t been an opportunity for the crew to take shore leave for quite some time and with all the work that had to be done, all the danger that they faced, taking time off for herself was low on Janeway’s list of priorities.

“You’re worse than the Doctor,” she said eventually, hoping the attempt at humour would prevent him from probing further. His frown only deepened and Janeway sighed. “I just need some exercise. Tire this old body out.”

She smirked and was pleased by the smile she received in return.

“Well then,” Chakotay said, sensing that now was not the time to insist the captain take some time off, “may I suggest some velocity in the holodeck? Has Seven managed to beat you yet?”

Janeway smiled. She wondered if Seven was aware that the majority of the crew knew about her attempts - and subsequent failures - to beat the captain at the game. Janeway took an almost vicious pride in watching Seven grow increasingly more frustrated with every match. It was nice to see that cold, hard borg composure slip away, revealing the young human woman underneath.

But her amusement quickly disappeared, the smile faltering on her face as she realised Seven had cancelled their last few scheduled games. Perhaps the break in what had become her weekly routine was somehow responsible for her poor sleeping habits lately. The Doctor was always telling her she needed to spend less time hunched over her desk, put the paperwork down and _move_. But she never had the time. The weekly games of velocity were the most regular exercise that she got and she enjoyed the time immensely. Not just because she got to play the game she had loved all her life, since well before her academy days, but also because it gave her time to spend with Seven outside their roles as captain and astrometrics officer. And that was something Janeway strongly believed was important for the young woman she had liberated from the borg collective.

With a promise - that was vaguely genuine - to Chakotay that she would take better care of herself, Janeway finally dismissed her first officer and went back to the report she had been working on before he had interrupted her morning. It was incredibly dull, Starfleet bureaucracy that a lesser captain may have chosen to ignore upon finding themselves lost so far away from Starfleet High Command. But not Captain Kathryn Janeway. When _Voyager_ became lost in this quadrant, when she made the decision to merge the Starfleet crew with the Maquis crew they had been sent to find, Janeway had vowed to uphold the ideals and principles of Starfleet and the Federation. And she had kept that promise as best she could, insisting the Maquis crew take on the role of Starfleet officers and following the protocols and responsibilities that came with it. It had been a rough start and Janeway was sure it would fail, that she would end up with a Maquis mutiny on her hands. But it didn’t happen. Chakotay, B’Elanna Torres and many others soon became valuable members of her crew. Five years later and sometimes Janeway forgot which members of the crew were Starfleet bred and which were former traitors to the Federation.

She wondered how her superiors in Starfleet command would respond to that. If they would ever have the opportunity to do so. They had made great strides in getting closer to home these past five years, but there was still a long way to go. Still too many unknown obstacles in their way.

With difficulty, Janeway forced her attention back to the task at hand. Regardless of whether or not she lived long enough to see _Voyager_ home, she was determined to make damn sure her role as captain lived up to Starfleet standards, that her logs and records were as detailed as she could possibly make them.

It was comforting, in away. The security of Starfleet, of her _duty_ , anchoring her to the Federation in ways that mere memories alone could not. As long as they were still Starfleet officers, as long as they still had a purpose, then she and her crew would make it.

But they weren’t all Starfleet, she reflected. Neelix and Seven of Nine, and Kes before she left them, didn’t have that sense of duty to fall back on. The two Delta Quadrant natives had simply been looking for a sense of adventure, instead they had found a home amongst the _Voyager_ crew that Janeway was hard pressed to imagine life on board the ship without them and she still missed Kes deeply, despite the years that had passed.

And Seven… Well, she may have been born in the Alpha Quadrant, but her home for the majority of her life had been as part of the borg hive collective. Seven was in no rush to reach the Alpha Quadrant, Janeway knew. They’d even come to blows over it before, Janeway sensing Seven’s reluctance, her fear, of what returning to her birthplace would mean for her. Perhaps she hadn’t handled it all that well, Janeway reflected ruefully. When it came to Seven, even after two years away from the borg, Janeway still found it difficult to connect with her. Often they argued. And often for good reason.

Seven could be stubborn when she wanted to be. But so could Janeway.

 _It’s no use_ , Janeway thought bitterly and tossed the PADD she was working on to the side. It slid across her desk, teetered dangerously on the edge for a few moments before falling to the deck with a thump. Janeway scowled at it as if the device had done this on purpose just to annoy her. It was going to be one of those days it seemed, where nothing went her way and she got very little work done. She could even feel a headache coming on and tried to rub some of the tension out of her temples.

Maybe the Doctor was right. Perhaps she did need to get out from behind her desk more often. With that thought, Janeway was on her feet and exiting her ready room before she even knew where she was going.

The atmosphere on the bridge changed instantly with the captain’s appearance. It never failed to amuse her, even after five years, how her crew still stiffened slightly whenever she was around. She used to make Harry Kim tremble, she remembered with a smirk. That was one thing she certainly missed about not being near the Federation. Crew turn-over that meant fresh officers straight out of the academy, so green and easy to terrorise. But, then again, she supposed, at least after five years she had absolute faith in Harry’s abilities. She knew how he worked, what he needed help with, what she could do to bolster his confidence. There was a definite synchronicity amongst a crew that had been together as long as _Voyager’s_ had.

Chakotay stood abruptly from her command chair as she approached, but she waved him back down. “Think I’ll take a walk,” she muttered to him as she passed and he nodded approvingly in response.

Alone in the turbolift, Janeway took the opportunity to stretch, feeling the muscles in her neck and shoulders pop in response. Definitely too much time spent hunched over her desk. It felt good to be out of her ready room, even if she had no clear idea of where she was going. But every now and then, it was a good idea to roam _Voyager’s_ decks, let her crew see her, interact with her. She used to do this often, the first few years in the Delta Quadrant. Lately, however, it seemed the paperwork was building up, one more problem after the other. She had very little time for aimless wanderings. _I’ll have to change that_ , she vowed. Not only would it be good for crew morale, but the exercise would do her wonders too.

She nodded to each crew member she passed, some more startled than others at the sudden sight of their captain. It was nice to see that, even after all this time, she still had a _presence_ amongst the crew.

Without realising it, Janeway found herself on deck eight and wandering into astrometrics with no real purpose. Seven of Nine stood dutifully at her post, tall and straight with her startlingly blonde hair in its usual pristine bun, not a single strand out of place. Her hands glided confidently over her console even as she turned her head slightly to glance over her shoulder. Janeway could see the glare quickly fall from her face when she realised who it was that had disturbed her.

“Captain?” She sounded startled, nervous even and Janeway had to suppress a frown. “I already sent my astrometrics report to Commander Chakotay, but I can go over it with you now.”

Janeway held up a hand. “I’m not here about work, Seven.”

“I see,” said Seven, although it was clear she did not understand at all. Neither did Janeway, wondering absently what had brought her here and knowing Seven was bound to find her behaviour baffling as well as irrational.

“We haven't spoken in awhile,” said Janeway. Except, that wasn't true. They had spoken numerous times, but it had always been about ship’s business. It had been weeks since Seven had come to her with questions on the nature of individuality and while she was glad Seven had found others aboard _Voyager_ with whom she could confide, part of Janeway missed their arbitrary philosophical discussions that would inevitably arise. She even missed the disparity of viewpoints whenever Seven countered her command decisions, although they had become much fewer the longer Seven remained aboard _Voyager_. Was she finally letting go of her innate borg nature, embracing her individuality? Or had they just been through so much together that Seven was finally starting to trust her judgement?

“I have been… busy,” Seven said eventually. She kept her back to the captain, concentrating on her work. Janeway moved round until she was in front of Seven’s console, the large astrometrics screen to her back.

“Too busy for velocity?” Janeway leaned against the console, in that casual way of hers that was becoming more of a habit until she was practically lounging with her chin in her hands as her elbow supported her on the hard, cool metal surface. It was a stark contrast to Seven’s stiff borgness, the way she held herself straight and superior. Janeway stifled a smile and wondered if Seven’s humanity would ever develop far enough to allow her to loosen up.

For a brief moment, Seven froze, her fingers still above the console controls. It lasted barely a second before she was back to her usual borg aloofness and Janeway doubted, had anyone else been here, that they would have picked up on it. But Janeway knew Seven; the borg drone she used to be and the woman she was becoming. She spotted the unease, even if Seven didn't want her too.

“I do not believe continuing our weekly games would be appropriate,” said Seven.

Janeway frowned, wondering what had brought this on. When Seven didn't elaborate, just continued to tap away at her console and ignore the captain, Janeway sighed. She was going to have to tease this out of Seven, use every ounce of diplomacy and skill that she had.

Had she done something to upset Seven? Janeway didn’t think anything could. There was still too much of the drone in her that Seven was rarely affected by offhand comments or things said in the heat of the moment. The type of things that would insult most humanoids seemed to bounce off Seven like two protons repelling each other. Perhaps, though, Seven had advanced enough to be aware of the hesitancy some of the crew still felt around her. It was hard for some of the lower decks to see past the borg. Especially those that had been involved in the battle at Wolf 359 or had lost someone they knew to the borg. The fear, the _hate_ , was too ingrained, still too raw, for people to let it go. It reminded Janeway of the lingering animosity of the Maquis crew towards Cardassians. And she could hardly blame them. Janeway herself still felt mistrust around the Romulans and there had been a tentative peace between the Federation and the Romulan Empire for years. Prejudice, however, was hard to let go. Even if Janeway did believe humanity had evolved past such petty things, she could hardly speak for every individual that existed. Conflicts still arose, wars still happened and the universe went on regardless.

“Care to tell me why?” Sometimes being blunt, straightforward, was the best course of action when it came to Seven. She herself had never exactly been subtle, saying what exactly was on her mind, giving into impulses before thinking them through. She was getting better at controlling herself, much to Janeway’s relief, but she knew Seven appreciated when people were candid around her. It was more… efficient.

A brief flicker across Seven’s face; a look that Janeway had never seen on her features before. Shame, guilt… Janeway frowned. “This is about the accident?” she said and bit her lip when Seven flinched. Janeway rubbed at her temples, feeling the ache from her neck expand throughout her body and increasing in intensity. She was starting to wish she had chosen a different deck for her impromptu walk. But they had to discuss this. Janeway couldn’t allow whatever guilt Seven was feeling to carry on. It wasn’t good for Seven, her work and the ship. It wasn’t good for Janeway either, no matter how much she tried to ignore the fact that she missed Seven’s company. “Accidents happen, Seven. Even in the holodeck.”

Anger flashed in Seven’s eyes. “It would not have been so… severe, if I were not borg.”

Janeway softened at that. “You don’t know that.”

“I am _borg_ ,” Seven said stiffly. She had given up the pretence of still doing work and Janeway watched as her hands clutched tightly onto the edges of the console. The flesh of her implant free hand turned a stark white and absently, Janeway wondered if that borg implant on her left could leave a dent in the resilient metal, could crack it open and expose the components within.

 _It probably could_ , she thought, _quite easily_.

Two years ago that thought would have unsettled her, but not anymore. She knew Seven too well now, had seen how much she could care for other individuals, for her ship and her crew, when she could so easily have given into anger and resentment and taken it out on all of them.

“My implants…” Seven continued, “they increase my strength, my endurance… They make me dangerous.”

 _Dangerous_ , Janeway thought and felt incredibly sad in that moment. Because Seven could be dangerous, yes, but she chose not to be. She chose to follow Janeway’s - the Federation’s - ideals and values, even if she didn’t necessarily agree with them all of the time. It made Janeway’s heart ache to think Seven believed this of herself.

“You are borg,” Janeway agreed. “But you’re also human. You’re both… Being borg is a part of you. You’re unique, Seven. That doesn’t make you dangerous. That makes you invaluable.”

Seven looked at her then; there was still shame in her ice blue eyes, like she didn’t want to believe Janeway’s words. But Janeway had never lied to her and although she encouraged Seven to embrace her humanity more than anyone else, she never expected Seven to let go of that part of herself that was still borg. She had been a drone for so long that it was understandable that she still retained some aspects of the collective. Perfection, efficiency… Janeway couldn’t see any harm in that. She appreciated it, appreciated Seven and all she had done for the ship since coming aboard.

It wasn’t enough for Seven of Nine. She was still apart from the rest of humanity, the rest of _Voyager_. She was isolated from them, perhaps by her own doing. But Janeway thought she was partly responsible for it too. She should have seen it, should have been paying more attention. She was the captain, after all and, more importantly, she was the one that had liberated Seven, had promised to herself to be there as the borg drone became the young woman in front of her. Except it hadn’t been enough. The subtleties of human interaction were lost to Seven. They were too vague, too easy to misinterpret. Of course the borg part of her deemed that inefficient, irrelevant. Maybe there was something to be said about being part of a hive mind where all thoughts were as one, Janeway mused.

“Seven,” said Janeway slowly. She reached out then, deliberately placing her hand over Seven’s left. The metal implant was cool beneath her palm, hard; but it didn’t frighten her. The cybernetics trailed upwards until they embedded in the flesh of Seven’s forearm, becoming one. And Janeway knew what Seven could do with that hand, how deadly she could be. The two thin metal tubules that shot out on her whim, ready to assimilate whatever got in her way. “Part of being an individual… it means accepting who you are.”

“I _know_ who I am,” Seven said forcefully. Janeway felt the hand beneath hers twitch but Seven didn’t pull away. “ _What_ I am.”

“And part of being a friend,” Janeway continued as if Seven hadn’t interrupted her, “means accepting those you care about, flaws and all.” Seven stiffened slightly, but Janeway could see some of the resistance start to fade, see the acceptance sinking in. “Come back to velocity, Seven,” Janeway said softly when she could so easily have made it a command. Her eyes watched the hand beneath hers; unmoving but very much alive and when she looked up, Seven nodded.

“Very well, Captain.”


	3. 1.3

The last hour of her shift always seemed to last longer than the rest combined. But she was captain and her shift was never really over, she was always on standby in case something went wrong. And here, in the Delta Quadrant where they were so far from all that they knew, _wrong_ was something that tended to happen regularly. Captain Kathryn Janeway could only hope and wish for the next few hours to be crisis free. Just enough time to play her game of velocity - and hopefully win - enjoy a light dinner and curl up in her quarters with a few chapters of her favourite book. It was every captain’s dream, but sadly one that did not happen often. Not for Janeway, at least.

“You are late.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow at the cool voice. It had taken her a little longer to find her velocity gear than expected - and she eventually found it stashed at the bottom of her closet in a bundled heap - but by her own estimates, she couldn’t be more than a minute late, perhaps two. But of course Seven and her borg efficiency would notice. Not for the first time, Janeway wondered if those borg implants provided her with her own internal chronometer, far more reliable than whatever the ship’s computer could provide. She could use someone like that on the bridge when Ensign Brooks showed up late for the beta shift, Janeway mused.

“My apologies,” Janeway said as graciously as she could.

Seven stood as rigid as ever, hands clasped tightly behind her back. Anyone else would have been found impatiently lounging against the holodeck door, but any impatience on Seven’s part was carefully hidden.

_Or maybe she’s always impatient and I’ve - we’ve - just grown accustomed to it._

“Shall we?” said Janeway, gesturing towards the holodeck. The question wasn’t just a mere formality. Despite their recent discussion, the unspoken understanding between them, Janeway still wanted to leave Seven with a way out if she needed it. Recreational activities weren’t exactly fun if they were forced. But Seven inclined her head slightly in ascent and stepped aside to allow Janeway access to the small control panel next to the holodeck doors. She quickly programmed in their usual parameters for velocity and together they stepped into the grey and yellow walls of the holodeck.

“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you,” said Janeway lightly as they stood at opposite ends of the room, each with a phaser in hand.

“When do you ever?” Seven’s lips quirked.

_The borg version of a smile_ , Janeway mused, glad she could so easily spot whenever Seven was amused. Not many people could.

Across from her, Seven bent her knees slightly, phaser held in front of her as she prepared for the match to start. She was wearing her usual velocity outfit; the black one with the sleeveless shirt and the pants cropped at her ankles. It suited her, Janeway thought, although she knew Seven did not feel comfortable wearing it. It exposed too many of her implants, a cold reminder of what she used to be. Janeway had never considered her to be ashamed of them, not until their conversation in astrometrics. Not until the accident that had fractured two of Janeway’s ribs. Her golden blonde hair was in its usual severe bun, but Janeway knew before long it would become unkempt, stray strands hanging loosely as they framed her face. Another look that suited Seven and one Janeway had come to appreciate perhaps just just a little too much since introducing Seven to the game.

“Computer, begin match,” Janeway commanded.

Overhead, in the exact centre of the room, a small, grey, holographic disk materialised. It wouldn't move until one of them shot it with their phaser, then it would bounce wildly around the holodeck and the game would begin. This was the part where Seven, with her borg implants providing her with enhanced reflexes, usually bested her. But for once Janeway managed to hit the disk first. It shot across towards the starboard wall, ricocheting off it and speeding back towards Seven who didn’t move as the disk slammed into her chest.

“ _Round to Janeway_ ,” announced the computer, “ _Janeway leads one round to zero_.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow but Seven said nothing, just took up position opposite her once more.

The next three rounds were much the same, with Janeway winning with ease. The thing Janeway loved most about playing with Seven was the challenge. No one else on the ship was quite up to Janeway’s skill level. But Seven, with all her borg enhancements, made her love the game again, gave her this small piece of home out here in the middle of the lonely Delta Quadrant. Except…  this match wasn't shaping up to be much of a challenge. Seven was holding back. Her fear of repeating what had happened last time they played kept her restrained and, as a result, their match was dull. Janeway was just going through the motions. There was no effort to it. No fun.

_Fine_ , Janeway thought, _two can play at this game._

When the next round started, Janeway deliberately slowed her reflexes. She didn’t shoot the disk when she could have and watched with satisfied amusement as Seven’s instincts took over. It wasn’t exactly an aggressive play, not compared to Seven’s usual standards, but the disk still headed in Janeway’s direction with a brief burst of energy from Seven’s phaser. Janeway countered the move, sending the disk flying wide past Seven. It was a blunder of a move and it gave Seven a clear opening. _Take it_ , Janeway willed and when Seven sent the disk towards her in retaliation, she hesitated. Her competitive streak was strong and she _almost_ darted out of the way. She did move in the end, her feet shifting clumsily across the holodeck floor, but it wasn’t quick enough for her to dodge the photonic disk. It clipped her shoulder and the computer’s _Round to Seven_ didn’t annoy her as much as it usually did. She really didn’t like to lose. It was what made her a good captain. But she still didn’t want to give Seven an easy victory.

Seven glared at her with narrowed eyes. “You could have avoided that.”

Janeway shrugged. She could have, yes and it was a struggle to hold back a smile in the face of Seven’s righteous indignation.

“You are allowing me to win,” Seven accused.

“One round is hardly the whole game,” said Janeway. “Besides, you’re the one letting _me_ win.”

“I-” Seven began, but it was hard for anyone to argue with Janeway when she pulled her all-knowing captain’s stare. And although Seven argued with her more than anyone else, disagreed with every order she gave by finding the tiniest shred of logic she could to undermine Janeway’s authority, even Seven knew when it was pointless to argue. She had learned that much at least. “I… have not been playing at my best,” Seven sighed.

That was an understatement, Janeway thought. And highly irregular for someone who spent her whole life as a borg drone. Not playing to the best of her abilities must have been incredibly difficult for Seven, but Janeway understood why and allowed her demeanor to soften as she took a step closer to Seven.

“You’re holding back,” said Janeway carefully. “Because you don’t want to hurt me again.”

Seven stiffened with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Not looking at her captain, not saying anything, but she didn’t have to. Because Janeway had read her easily again and knew it was up to her to make this right. She chose her next words carefully, knowing she had to be clear and efficient for Seven to understand, to accept what had happened as an accident and move on from it.

“Did I ever tell you I could have gone pro?” Janeway said. At Seven’s puzzled frown, she held back a smile and patiently explained what pro meant. “I was young, probably played better than I do now,” she admitted.

And _damn_ she had been good. Her childhood bedroom was still lined with trophies; her mother had never bothered to get rid of them. All through high school she had played and then at university, where the game was a welcome relief in between endless science labs.

It was her final year, two months before finals and then graduation, when she got offered to play in the Terran team for the Woman’s Velocity League. She would have been touring all over the quadrant, playing with the best players in the Federation. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. And one she’d almost took. What was one year off before she joined Starfleet Academy? Starfleet could wait, her career could wait. Now was the time for fun.

Her father had never approved. The admiral had hopes of his daughter following in his footsteps. Even with a science background, she could still end up in command one day. But only if she worked hard, focused on her studies, didn’t waste a year of her life playing a frivolous game. He must have been so happy, so relieved, when she broke her collarbone during the Terran Cup final and her doctor banned her from playing for three months. It dashed all her hopes of joining the WVL and she’d started at the academy that fall like she was always meant too.

“You would have given up Starfleet?” Seven asked once Janeway had told all. “You would not be captain?”

Janeway shrugged. “I would have joined Starfleet eventually. This is where I belong.” On _Voyager_ , her home. Out here amongst the stars. “But I loved the game and I knew a life in Starfleet would leave very little time for it.”

It was why she relished her weekly games with Seven so much. It reminded her of her youth, of Indiana and a time when everything seemed so simple. There hadn’t been the burden of command back then. She hadn’t been lost so far away from home.

“My point is,” said Janeway, “that in life there is always risks. But to shy away from those risks, to stop living… that is hardly a life at all.”

Seven was listening carefully, Janeway knew and now she took a few moments to process the captain’s words. Janeway watched her carefully, the way faint lines formed on her forehead as she frowned, the strands of blonde hair that tangled around her face and made her look so young, so innocent. She _was_ innocent, in a way. _But also deadly_. _Never forget._ But it was the fear that set Seven apart from the borg, much like her logic and efficiency set her apart from humanity. Fear drove her, fear _grounded_ her. It was part of who she was, just as she was also part borg.

“I…” Seven began and Janeway could see understanding sparkling in her eyes. “You are saying I let my… apprehension take control of me?”

“In a way,” Janeway agreed. She smiled softly at Seven. “I’m saying that we can’t control everything. Bad things happen. But you… You are what you are and I know you. I know how much you care; about this ship, her crew…” _About me._ But she said no more. She had said too much already. She was making presumptions, wild ones and if she wasn’t careful she would only drive Seven further away.

But Seven remained where she was, her head tilted to the side slightly as she tried to comprehend all Janeway was saying, translate it in a way that would make sense to her borg structured mind. “Perhaps I have been misguided,” she said and Janeway smirked.

“Happens to the best of us.”

“Indeed,” said Seven.

“So…” Janeway twirled the phaser in her hand. “Shall we continue? You only have five games in a row to win to take the match.”

Seven cocked an eyebrow, an indication of her amusement. “Doable,” she agreed and Janeway stepped back to take up position across from Seven. Time to start playing properly. But before she could instruct the computer to restart the match, her comm badge chirped: Tuvok summoning her to the bridge. Janeway suppressed a sigh and told him she was on her way.

“Rematch later?” asked Janeway and was satisfied when Seven nodded.

Although she was loathe to enter the sacred space of the bridge in anything but her uniform, Captain Kathryn Janeway decided her velocity outfit would just have to do. The ship wasn’t at red alert and Tuvok hadn’t sounded worried - in fact, the vulcan security chief was as calm and emotionless as ever - but this was the Delta Quadrant and trouble was never far off. What she was wearing hardly mattered if her crew was in danger.

The turbolift took her straight to the bridge; only a few minutes but enough time for Janeway to build up enough apprehension to get the adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream. They had left the Kavar system several days ago after a successful trade agreement and first contact with a species known as the T’Var. And although their meeting had been fairly pleasant and uneventful, something inside Janeway, a gut instinct, urged her not to linger in T’Var space for very long.

When she arrived, the bridge crew were as tense as if they had been on red alert. Janeway frowned as the turbolift doors slid open to reveal her security chief and first officer gathered around the tactical station along with Neelix and Ensign Samantha Wildman. Neither of which had any reason to be on the bridge under normal circumstances. Janeway felt some of the tension from the crew absorb itself into her skin and she quickly donned her command mask. She knew she looked formidable even without her stiff and neat Starfleet uniform.

“Report.”

A fleeting look passed between Tuvok and Chakotay, like neither one of them wanted to be the one to report to their captain. Janeway raised an eyebrow, liking this situation less and less. Until Tuvok finally spoke and she felt the command mask slip away against her will.

“Naomi Wildman appears to have gone missing,” said Tuvok. As a vulcan, his voice was calm, reassuring in a way, and Janeway was grateful for it. She took some of that calm for herself, took a brief a moment to remind herself she was captain and no matter how shocking or worrying this information was, she had to remain objective. She turned to Neelix and Ensign Wildman. Now that she was up to speed on the situation, now that she was the captain and all the authority and responsibility that came with it, she could see the worry in their eyes, the sheer panic that threatened to overwhelm the ensign.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Janeway asked gently.

“This morning, before my duty shift,” said Wildman. Her voice was surprisingly steady. Her Starfleet training or was Samantha Wildman made of stronger stuff than Janeway had realised?

“She was supposed to meet me in the mess hall to help with dinner preparations,” said Neelix. “But she never showed up.”

“I spoke to the crew who she was supposed to have lessons with today,” said Chakotay. Janeway could tell from the way his forehead crinkled, the grave line of his mouth, that he didn’t have good news. “No one has seen her all day.”

“Did you check the sensor logs?” Janeway asked her security chief. She already knew his answer. Tuvok was reliable and efficient and the first thing he would have done was scan for Naomi’s life signs.

“There is no sign of her on board,” said Tuvok.

That meant she had either somehow gotten off the ship - highly unlikely since they were in deep space and had no contact with another ship in weeks - or it meant she was…

But Janeway wouldn’t allow herself to finish the thought. Not yet. And she was glad when Harry Kim interjected, even if she was vaguely annoyed that he and the rest of the bridge crew appeared to be eavesdropping.

“We’ve had several sensor malfunctions over the past few days,” said Harry. “Maybe they’re…” He trailed off, the tip of his ears and his cheeks turned pink as he realised everyone's eyes were on him. But Janeway seized at the hope he gave them. Even if it was miniscule she would take it.

“Tuvok, have your security teams sweep the ship deck by deck,” Janeway ordered. “I want her found.”

If Tuvok thought the search was hopeless, futile, then he didn’t let it show. He only nodded at the captain and activated his comm badge to give swift instructions to his team.

“We'll find her, Samantha,” Janeway promised. She tried to smile reassuringly, but found she couldn’t. Part of her already knew the likely outcome of Tuvok’s search and perhaps it was cruel of her to give the ensign false hope. But Janeway had never been one to give into defeat so easily. Not when there was still a chance, no matter how small.

_We'll find her, I promise._


	4. 1.4

There was an eery silence on the Federation Starship _Voyager._ Seven’s footsteps bounced and echoed around the walls of the large cargo bay, reminding her of rapid torpedo fire. Torpedos she could have dealt with, though. Not this. This felt unreal. Nothing from her experience so far on _Voyager_ could have prepared her for this. Nothing she had assimilated from the borg could help her either. So she did what everyone else was doing: she looked for Naomi Wildman in the most unlikely of places.

The captain had instructed the crew to search their work stations, their quarters, and report anything amiss to Commander Tuvok; but so far, after three hours of searching the ship, there was still no sign of Naomi Wildman.

 _She is lost_ , Seven thought, _and only a child_. _Younger than I was when the borg came._

But there was still hope. She had to believe that. No one had given up the search, not yet. _But it's just a matter of time._ The ship wasn't that big and soon Tuvok would have finished his methodical deck by deck search. And there was only one conclusion he could come to. The one conclusion no one, as yet, had dared to voice. Not in Seven’s presence anyway. One look at her and it was obvious now was not the time to be around the former borg drone.

 _Good,_ Seven thought. Her own search would be more efficient without the hindrance of her crewmates.

This deck and the cargo bays has already been searched. Seven wanted to look again, remembering her last conversation with Naomi. _Don’t you want a place of your own?_ Well _this_ was her place, cargo bay two, and Seven had found Naomi down here more than once when she wasn’t supposed to be.

The borg alcoves lining one wall let out a ghastly green glow, a gentle hum as they took power from the ship. Briefly, Seven wondered if the borrowed borg technology was responsible for the malfunctioning of _Voyager’s_ sensors. It seemed unlikely, as they had never done so before and a quick diagnostic run by the ship's computer under her instructions revealed every piece of borg technology integrated into the ship to be working properly. Another mystery to be solved then, but for another time.

Beyond the alcoves and the computer terminal, the rest of the cargo hold was filled with rows of boxes and crates crammed full with spare equipment, non perishable foods they had acquired from alien worlds, strange alien objects and artifacts given to them or simply found during their long voyage back to the Alpha Quadrant. It was amongst the rows that Seven looked, attuning her borg implants to detect any indications of something - or someone - that shouldn't be there. She could detect nothing out of the ordinary and even after searching in some of the crates themselves in case Naomi had hidden herself away inside one of them, Seven eventually accepted that the cargo bay was empty apart from herself.

 _Where are you?_ Seven wondered. She was running out of places to search, but she wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. She thought of the last place she had seen Naomi and headed for deck ten and the main shuttlebay. It was empty when she arrived. The lights overhead brightened at her presence and _Voyager’s_ shuttle crafts stood silent and still, indifferent to the turmoil within the rest of the ship, within Seven of Nine herself.

Tuvok had searched here already too, she knew. Seven was aware of the futileness of her actions, the inefficiency to search in the same place twice. But she didn’t care. She admired Commander Tuvok, knew him to be most efficient and capable of his job, his duty; but Seven would not rest easy until she had searched the whole ship herself. The commander may be vulcan, be the very epitome of logic and grace, but he did not have her borg enhancements, her superiority. She would search every inch of the ship herself until Naomi was found, until…

 _No_ , thought Seven. She would not let her imagination run rampant. A human weakness that was unacceptable even during normal circumstances. She had to be better than that, had to be better for Naomi.

Yet even as Seven scrupulously conducted her search, she felt her optimism wavering. Each shuttle was empty, inside and underneath, no little girls hiding and scared to come out and face all the trouble she had caused. Her footsteps were loud on the hard deck, a rhythmic _thud thud thud_ in time with the beating of her heart. Until her foot landed on something soft, something blue, and all the noise, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the shuttlebay and into the vacuum of space.

It wasn’t until she had bent down, picked it up to scrutinise it more closely that Seven realised what it was. That ridiculous stuffed creature Neelix had replicated for Naomi not all that long ago now. A character from a holodeck novel, she knew, but couldn’t remember its name. But there could be no mistake. It was Naomi’s. She was the only child on board and Seven was doubtful her fellow crewmates would own such a thing (and even if they did, she doubted they would dare carry it around with them while on duty). Besides, she had seen Naomi with the toy in her arms on numerous occasions and she was mature and considerate enough not to leave her things scattered about the ship, especially in places that were technically out of bounds to her. Naomi had been here and recently, Seven deduced.

 _But where are you now?_ Seven’s eyes scanned the vicinity with a cold, hard scientificity and landed on the nearest the shuttle. The _Drake,_ the one B'Elanna Torres had decommissioned and declared unfit for flight. Seven had already checked inside it, but something told her to check again. _Intuition_. A human fallacy indeed. Now she was beginning to understand its importance and wished more than anything that she didn’t need it.

The shuttle was just as empty and dark as it had been the first time she checked, although now that tingle of intuition burned hotter, urging her to investigate further. She moved to the front of the shuttle. The pilot’s console, and beside it the tactical station, were dark and silent until Seven pressed her fingers to it, bringing the main computer to life. Right away she knew something was wrong. The shuttle and its computer system hadn't been entirely taken offline. Some of the shuttle’s systems were still operational; including life support, communications, transporters…

A coldness crept through Seven then, her hand hesitating before bringing up the transporter logs. She was no longer aware of the stuffed toy in her hand, the way she subconsciously clutched it tighter to herself, like a child seeking comfort. For several moments, all Seven could do was stare, not wanting to believe what she was reading.

How long she sat there, she did not know. Her body felt light, like a cloud. No longer was she a part of it. Instead she was floating, watching from above. The world became a blur and Seven froze in place. It was as if she had been severed from the collective all over again. Then; she had lost the voices of the many, the shared thoughts, the order and the clarity. Now; life slipped away from her. A desperation, like she was drowning and struggling and gasping for air. She wasn’t Seven of Nine, former borg drone, but she wasn’t the individual Annika Hansen either.

She was nothing, no one, helpless.

Seven blinked and Commander Tuvok was beside her. Seven could not remember calling for him. He confirmed what she already knew and summoned the captain and they waited in silence until she arrived, although Seven could not remember that either. Time flowed too fast, much like an unrelenting river current during a storm. It seemed to take seconds for the captain to arrive, yet at the same time an eternity may as well have passed.

“Report,” the captain ordered, though her voice was hesitant, like she didn’t want to hear what the two of them had to say.

Tuvok explained; Seven couldnt even if she had wanted to. Her jaw was frozen in place, like someone had fused her teeth together until they were all one large bone blocking passage into the very deepest part of her. A lump formed in her throat and, for a moment, Seven thought she had swallowed something, that she was choking, couldn’t breathe. But she couldn’t have. She still hadn’t moved from the pilot’s seat, still hadn’t let go of the stuffed toy lingering with Naomi’s scent.

“The logs show the transporters on this shuttle were active approximately twelve hours ago,” said Tuvok.

“Near the last time anyone saw Naomi,” said the captain gravely. She exchanged a look with her first officer who stood just behind her in the hatchway of the shuttle.

“Yes,” confirmed Tuvok.

“What were our spacial coordinates at the time of transfer?” There was a faint trace of hope in the captain’s voice, though when Seven looked at her she could find no hint of it reflected in her eyes.

 _Voyager_ hadn't been near another ship or planet or space station for days, weeks. Whatever the end coordinates for the transport, Naomi could only have ended up somewhere in deep space. Tuvok said as much and Seven thought she could detect some strain in his usual calm and steady voice.

Silence descended upon the shuttle as everyone waited for the captain’s next move. All Seven could hear was the faint hum of _Voyager’s_ engines, vibrating through the hull of the _Drake_. Janeway pursed her lips until they became a line so thin they were barely visible. Seven had seen her angry before, outraged. But this… This was more than anger. This was fury and guilt and anguish. All carefully hidden behind the mask of command. But Seven could see it. Because she felt it too.

“Chakotay,” said Janeway in a low, soft voice, “have the helm retrace our path. I want to find her.”

“That would be futile,” Seven blurted angrily.

Janeway turned carefully. There was fire in her eyes, but Seven didn’t care. Long past were the days where Seven would balk at Janeway’s authority so blatantly and she was hardly aware of herself as she spoke, unaware of Chakotay and Tuvok glancing at each other; Tuvok as impassive as ever, Chakotay looking uncomfortable, like he wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure how. The control slipped away from Seven as the words flew out her mouth. She could not stop them, did not want to, and hoped they were as harsh and cruel as they sounded, that they would cut deep and tear away the command mask from her captain for good.

“The girl is dead.”

Janeway stiffened. There was a moment of silence between them, but Janeway’s eyes told her more than words ever could and the fire dimmed until only embers remained, leaving a soft glowing warmth within them.

“I don’t leave my people behind,” she said. Her voice was hard, final. Only her face softened until Seven could bear it no longer and had to look away.

 _She’s dead_ , Seven screamed, but it was only in her head, louder than the many voices of the borg and ringing endlessly, echoing off the walls of her skull like it was an empty cave. _She’s dead she’s dead she’s dead she’s dead._

“Shall I inform Ensign Wildman?” Tuvok’s deep rumble was startlingly loud in the silence that followed. Seven envied him then, envied the vulcans and their ability to bury all emotion deep within until it no longer existed. She longed for that. Longed for the collective, the many voices that would drown out her own.

 _She’s dead_.

“No,” said Janeway. She straightened. She was the captain now more than ever. “I’ll do it.”

She left then, Chakotay following closely behind to carry out her orders, to turn the ship around, to find… nothing? A body? Hope?

No. _No more hope_. There would be no hope again.

Only Tuvok remained. He stared at his tricorder for a few moments before he looked at Seven. “I have never lost a child,” he said quietly. “Although my children are far away from here.”

“It is not the same,” said Seven, who knew no family other than those she had found on _Voyager._ Her crew, her friends. Her collective. _She’s dead._

“No,” Tuvok agreed. His arm twitched like he meant to reach out a hand and give her comfort like Janeway was prone to do. Seven was not sure how she would react to the touch of another living being, if her skin would burn beneath the biometric suit she wore until the flesh was red and blistered and useless. In the end however, he restrained himself like all good vulcans did and gave her nothing more than a brief nod, leaving her alone in the silent and empty shuttle.

She would have sat there forever, she knew. There was no point to anything anymore. Anything good and bright had been taken from the world, leaving only darkness, despair; as if, one by one, all the stars in the galaxy were going out. That was the nature of the universe. It was cruel and chaotic and unforgiving. It did not care. Seven wished she could be the same, but indifference would not come to her, would not fill the aching hole in her chest.

A soft thud at her feet. Seven looked and blinked at the blue toy. _Flotter_ , she remembered now and wanted to tear its head off. It was soft when Seven picked it back up, this ridiculous toy that Naomi carried everywhere, that could not protect her or give her comfort. Not anymore.

Annika Hansen had had many dolls, she remembered suddenly. She could recall the small, innocent blonde child she had been, playing alone with her dolls as her parents worked to find out everything they could about the borg. She had been so _lonely_. She longed for other children to play with, for her papa to leave the borg alone for ten minutes and tell her a story. But there was never any other children and her parents were too focused, too obsessed with the borg to see the danger they were all in. Then the drones came and Annika Hansen never had to be alone again.

Had Naomi felt it too? The loneliness that left you feeling so lost there was nowhere to go but into the darkness? Perhaps that was why Seven had been drawn to Naomi. They were both lonely, lost children. Except Seven wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t Annika Hansen, was no longer a drone, part of something greater than any individual. She wasn’t even Seven of Nine anymore. She wasn’t sure who she was, who she could be.

_I am lost and Naomi is dead and nothing ever matters at all._

When the walls of the shuttle became too confined, when the air seemed to thin and a coldness crept into her skin, Seven finally moved. She still clutched the toy and if any of _Voyager’s_ crew thought the sight of a former borg drone carrying a children's toy was funny they kept it to themselves. Tuvok had posted two of his security team outside the shuttle. Seven ignored them as she passed, ignored everyone she came across as she walked through _Voyager’s_ decks, unsure where she was going and knowing it did not matter anyway.

When she found herself outside the mess hall, Seven was surprised. The doors slid open at her approach and the small group huddled in the far corner did not notice her.

Only Samantha Wildman was sitting down. Neelix stood dutifully at her side, an arm around her shoulders and tears in his eyes. The captain knelt in front of her ensign, speaking softly, speaking words of comfort and apology. Useless, empty words. Seven watched as Samantha’s pale face, trying so desperately hard to stay in control, stay strong, finally crumbled. The wail of anguish she let out then sounded alien, sounded wrong. It was loud and painful and Seven was sure the entire ship could hear it. Even those far below in the lower decks must have sensed it. And Seven couldn’t bear it.

She stiffened, found every piece of resolve within herself and used it to fill the hole in her heart. She wouldn’t be like Samantha Wildman, would not give in to useless emotions, would not lose control. Feelings were irrelevant and she was borg.

Seven of Nine placed the blue toy on the nearest table, knowing Neelix would find it eventually and quickly turned on her heel and left. Perhaps he would find the comfort she could not.

She didn’t notice the captain staring after her, didn’t see the worry that was meant only for her in grey eyes washed of all colour. Even if she had been looking, it wasn’t something she would want to see. Not anymore.

_Emotions are irrelevant._


	5. 2.1

Their first days, weeks, in the Delta Quadrant had been filled with less despair, less loss of hope. Every member of her crew from human to Vulcan to Bajoran were subdued, quiet, like they couldn’t understand. Like they couldn't believe it. Didn't _want_ to believe it.

Even _Voyager_ herself seemed more quiet; the bulkheads, the deck beneath the crew’s feet. The familiar thrum of the warp core vibrating through the hull used to be reassuring, familiar, a reminder they were on their way home. Now it only served to humble them, remind them of their mortality, how fragile they were compared to the empty, cold vacuum of space beyond the thick metal hull and shields.

Captain Kathryn Janeway had lost members of her crew before, too many - _so many. I'm sorry I couldn't get you home. I'm sorry I failed you -_ but of all those deaths, none of them had ever been quite like this. She had never lost a child before. Never felt so hopeless, so lost in the blackness of space, so out of touch with her command and her crew, her ship.

And she blamed herself for it.

She was the captain and every single person on board was her responsibility. The longer they were lost out here, the more confrontations they encountered, the more losses they endured… Well, the more slack Janeway had become. She still followed Starfleet protocol, still held tight to her Federation ideals and always would, but Janeway still couldn't shake the thought that she should have done _more._ Had more security in place, failsafes set up to stop unauthorised transports, had made sure their Goddamn sensors were working to one hundred per cent efficiency.

But she had done none of that. Because after six years lost and far from home, Captain Kathryn Janeway trusted her crew implicitly. No one cut corners, no one neglected their duty despite all the perils they faced every day. With no hope for relief, with no end of their long journey in sight, Janeway’s crew had never faltered. Some had their ups and downs, close calls and moments of bleak despair, but none of them had ever failed her. They soldiered on, all of them, in the blackest of circumstances with no hope of light at the end, all of them, at the end of the day, did their duty. They were Starfleet. And they always would be.

Yet Starfleet was so far away, and duty hardly mattered very much when children were dying.

Not for the first time, Janeway wished for a councillor on board. Her crew needed one now more than ever. Samantha Wildman, tough as she was, had just lost her only child. Although the crew rallied around her, although Janeway had given her all the time she needed away from her duties, she knew it was going to take a lot more than time, a lot more than friends and crewmates for her to move on from this. Janeway couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going through. Whenever she lost someone under her command, she felt hollow and empty for days. She would spend sleepless hours thinking of all the things she could have done differently, of the commands she had given and knew, deep within herself, that she could never do anything differently.

Part of being a captain was taking responsibility for your orders, your actions, wherever they may lead. It was the toughest part, the part that Janeway struggled with most. A lesser captain may balk from it, hesitate in a situation where there was no time to think it through, where a split second decision meant the safety of the ship and your crew and sometimes that decision led to sacrifice, led to pain and death and loss. And Janeway had to live with it, always. And yet she would not doubt herself, could not. It was a hard lesson to learn, one they could never teach at the academy. But Janeway had learned it. Out here, in the Delta Quadrant, the hardest lesson of them all had been taught to her by the harshest of teachers.

Losing a child, though… losing your _own_ child… Janeway did not believe that was something anyone could forgive themselves for and she longed for that councillor then, just one person on the ship who she could talk to, to make sense out of her muddled thoughts and guilt. Someone to help her decide what to do next. She had Chakotay and Tuvok, her oldest friend, but she was still their captain and they did not have the distance, the separation, a councillor had from the rest of the crew.

This was something she would just have to work through on her own. And she would, she knew. She would move past it and accept it and it would be difficult but she would do it, for the sake of her crew. For the sake of her ship.

Just another part of being captain.

It was her crew she worried for the most. The mother without her child, the helpless godfather, the friends and teachers who had all watched Naomi grow and blossom into the curious, happy child that she had been. They all felt the pain of this loss and it was to each other they turned to for comfort. Janeway did not have that luxury, but it was enough to know her crew were finding ways of coping in the aftermath of this senseless accident.

Well, most of them anyway. There was one person aboard _Voyager_ who was grieving almost just as much as Samantha Wildman and it pained Janeway to notice her become more isolated, more distant and cold, like those first weeks after Janeway had initially severed her from the Collective.

Seven of Nine had shut herself off from the rest of the crew since the accident, barely leaving the astrometrics lab, and Janeway wasn’t the only one to have noticed, the only one who was concerned. But it wasn’t until the Doctor came to her, his holographic features looking worried (and she still marvelled at the sophistication of his programing to produce the frown lines on his forehead, the creases around the eyes and the thinness of his lips. It all looked so real, so _human_ ).

He had hesitated at first, to the point where Janeway was about to throw him out of her ready room, unwilling and unable to deal with his eccentricities, not with her head pounding steadily and _that_ report sitting on her desk that still lay unfinished after two weeks. But to finish it would make it final, would make it real and Janeway was reluctant to declare Naomi Wildman officially lost, officially dead. So she ignored the PADD with her stiff and formal Starfleet report, leaving it sitting on the corner of her desk as she found more pressing, more mundane, pieces of paperwork that she could complete instead. It wasn’t like Starfleet Command were waiting eagerly, impatiently for her report. In fifty years time, once they finally made it back to the Alpha Quadrant - _if_ they made it back -  only then would she have to explain herself, her reluctance. Her failure.

 _I’m worried about Seven_.

The Doctor had been blunt, as always and when the words had left his photonic mouth, Janeway had stiffened, her heart racing wildly in her chest. It was never good when a chief medical officer came to the captain with concerns about a member of the crew. Yet, this was somehow worse. This was Seven of Nine they were talking about. Stoic, unflappable, Seven was almost Vulcan-like in her ability to control her emotions. But she wasn’t emotionless, she wasn’t Vulcan, wasn’t a drone anymore and Janeway remembered. She remembered the mess hall, Samantha Wildman’s pain and anguish and tears like a phaser drilling through her heart. It was instinct that made her turn away, instinct that had her eyes following Seven’s retreating form. She had been so quiet, so different from the anger she had displayed in the shuttle bay. The anger Janeway could deal with. It was easy to poke holes in anger, to talk people round with logic and common sense. But when Seven left the mess hall, Janeway could see none of that anger. Just a coldness, a distance that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was the drone she was looking at and not the individual and that scared Janeway, a terror so poignant she felt cold even in the stable environment of her ship. The coldness hadn’t left her since then. It only grew worse when the Doctor came to her ready room and she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Seven was her responsibility. Not just because she was captain, but because Janeway had been the one who freed her from the Borg, who thrust the humanity on her and brought her aboard _Voyager_ , made her one of them, part of the family. Even with Chakotay’s concerns ringing in her ears, with the crew suddenly on alert and wary of assimilation at any given moment, Janeway had never given up on Seven, had never doubted her choice to sever one Borg drone amongst thousands from the Collective and bring her home.

And she wasn’t about to give up on Seven now. Not now when Seven might need her. Need a captain, a mentor, a friend.

Which was how Janeway found herself strolling through the quiet halls of _Voyager_ on her way to astrometrics. She’d barely left her ready room since the accident, had only really spoken to Chakotay and Tuvok to get updates on the rest of the crew, to find out how they were coping. Only now as she faced them, walked amongst them, could she comprehend their loss, their pain. It was in the silence, the grim faces. There was no laughter or joy anymore. The Delta Quadrant had taken too much from them.

 _They’re giving up_ , thought Janeway and shivered as a new chill crept up her spine. She would have to do something about it and soon. This could not go on. But how could she give them hope in the wake of this? How could anyone?

The door to astrometrics slid open at her approach, although Janeway did not enter right away. Instead she hesitated in the doorway, took a moment to study her astrometrics officer. The former Borg drone, once filled with so much pride that she held her head up high, shoulders stiff, tall and straight with not a single hair out of place in its severe and tight bun. Janeway noticed the difference right away, studied the slump of Seven’s shoulders, had the ridiculous urge to tuck loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears.

When Seven realised she was no longer alone and glanced at Janeway with dark and empty eyes, the captain knew the Doctor had been right to be concerned. She wanted to berate herself for hiding, for not noticing the extent of Seven’s pain and grief sooner. But she was here now and she wasn’t going anywhere. Seven needed her, needed someone, and without a councillor on board the responsibility fell to Janeway. Yet she knew she would be here regardless. Something tugged her towards Seven, something invisible, strong and unbreakable, something that had always been there and seemed unlikely to ever go away.

“Seven,” said Janeway, careful to keep her voice low, her footsteps slow and light as she ventured further into the astrometrics lab.

Yet Seven still jumped at the unexpected interruption, and Janeway frowned as her hand darted to the console nearest her and quickly switched the large screen, that took up the length of one wall, so that it displayed their current location amongst the stars.

They were on the edge of a small system. Four planets orbiting twin stars. Four planets teeming with life. It was simpler, the route far quicker for their journey home, to just bypass the system altogether. Soon they would be too far out to justify the resources wasted to double back and Janeway had to make a decision soon whether to keep going on their present course or order the helm to enter the system so they could explore, make first contact with a potential ally, possibly procure some much needed shore leave.

Or, more likely, all they would find was trouble. That was the last thing Janeway wanted, the last thing her crew needed. Which was why she was still undecided, she told herself. Seven’s lack of a report hadn’t helped much either, but it only served to further deepen Janeway’s concern. Before the accident, Seven would have had a report on Janeway’s desk about each planet and their inhabitants, their technological progress, everything and anything _Voyager’s_ Borg adapted sensors could detect. The PADD would be thrust into Janeway’s hand long before she even realised they were even anywhere near a star system.

She missed that efficiency, missed Seven’s reliability and wondered if it would ever come back, if this was just a momentary blip of pain and loss that would eventually fade away. Or would only the drone remain? The icy coldness Janeway could see clouding her eyes, her whole self? Seven was slipping away from her, fighting her humanity, herself; and Janeway, if she was not careful, was going get caught in the crossfire, end up as collateral damage.

She took a step closer, and when her body invaded Seven’s space she ignored the flinch, the stiffness and had to stop herself from reaching out, from feeling Seven’s warmth. Even if only a little remained it would surely be enough to vanquish the cold in her own bones. Janeway’s hand reached out, brushing past Seven but not quite touching her. Instead her fingers danced across the console panel, commanding the screen ahead to show her what Seven had been so quick and desperate to hide. Janeway had only caught a glimpse - her eyes had been on Seven, not the screen - but she could guess what Seven had been working on, what she wouldn’t want her captain or anyone else to know about.

“I ordered everyone back to their normal duties,” Janeway reminded her gently, as if Seven wasn’t aware of that, as if she could forget. She turned her gaze away for a moment, watched the screen and the data streaming by that she had become so familiar with over the last two weeks. She had spent hours pouring over it, looking for answers that were not there. Tuvok had done the same, even B’Elanna Torres and Harry Kim had wanted to help, yet neither of them could find any sense in the data. There was no sense to it. Just garbled sensor logs that would never reveal the truth of what had happened to Naomi Wildman. And now Seven was at it too, had probably been studying the data for far longer than any of them.

Seven stood still and silent beside her, not inclined to make this easy for Janeway. Or herself. It wasn’t anything less than what Janeway was used to when it came to her former Borg drone, but it made her sad all the same. Sad that she couldn’t find a way to help, sad that Seven seemed to be in so much pain even though she tried desperately to hide it. But Janeway could see it, she could _feel_ it in the way Seven’s eyes no longer sparkled, the way her mouth no longer twitched with a smile.

When Seven eventually spoke, her voice was just as stiff and formal as her body. There was no warmth to it, a warmth Janeway had come to expect over the last few months. It was gone and a part of Janeway seemed to have gone along with it, leaving her with nothing but an empty ache in her chest.

“I’ve completed my duty assignments,” said Seven and promptly handed Janeway a PADD. A brief glance and Janeway knew it contained all the information she had been curious about in regards to those four planets. So some of the efficiency wasn’t totally gone then. But Janeway still didn’t like it, didn’t like the way Seven had failed to bring her the information right away. It wasn’t exactly urgent, but Seven’s sense of urgency had never been quite the same as everyone else's.

Janeway glanced from the PADD in her hand to the data still on the screen, her vision blurring. She took a moment, resisted the urge to bite her lip.

“Why don’t you take a few days off,” Janeway suggested. She watched Seven carefully. The exhaustion evident on her features gnawed at Janeway’s gut. “Get some rest.”

“I do not require rest.” She didn’t shout, not exactly, but there was a notable rise in her voice that would have affronted the captain in her under any normal circumstances. She would have given anything for that, right then; she wanted Seven to shout and scream and fight and do everything _human._ Let all of the emotion out instead of trying bottle it away, like she was undergoing one of Tuvok’s calming meditative techniques. She wanted Seven to stop trying to be Vulcan, stop being Borg and give in to the pain of her humanity.

But Janeway couldn’t force her to and Seven maintained her control, even if it did teeter on the edge for a moment.

“The Doctor says you haven’t completed a regeneration cycle since…” _Since Naomi died._ But she couldn’t voice the words. She couldn’t even finish the damn report.

Trying a different tact wasn’t going to work. Janeway thought reminding her that others aboard cared about her, were worried about her, would help her see sense; but all Janeway’s words did was remind Seven of the loss that plagued them all. It was hard to imagine she could become more closed off than she already was, but Seven somehow managed it. Her eyes were cold with fury when she turned them on Janeway, her jaw tightly clenched. Janeway watched as her hands gripped the sides of the console, her implant covered one pressing so hard that she could see the metal beneath dent under her strength.

Janeway allowed her a moment, gave Seven the time she needed to compose herself. After several silently strained seconds had passed, Seven’s grip loosened. No lasting harm was done to the console, though Janeway wouldn’t have cared if she had smashed the thing to pieces. If it helped Seven, she could destroy the entire lab.

“Don’t make me order you, Seven,” said Janeway quietly, with just enough authority in her voice to harden it slightly.

“I prefer to work,” said Seven coldly. So cold that the room turned to ice around them, like a thick icy wall had suddenly rose up between them and Janeway couldn’t climb it.

Glancing back at the viewscreen, at the sensor logs she herself had become so familiar with over the past two weeks, Janeway pursed her lips. She wanted to take the authoritative, captain approach. The approach that worked so well on every other member of her crew. Yet so rarely had it worked on Seven. They had butted heads more times than Janeway could count, two strong minded, willful woman; one a hardened Starfleet captain and the other a former Borg drone, still too used to having her thoughts, her intentions shared with so many. But Seven was learning, evolving away from that drone. And Janeway was learning too. Learning that Seven’s stubbornness and rebelliousness was born of her fears, her self doubts, rather than a need to circumvent Starfleet’s, and thus Janeway’s, authority at all times.

“Some would say that what you are working on is futile,” said Janeway. And, this time, when she looked at Seven, the icy facade was beginning to melt, the drone became severed and all Janeway could see was a young, broken woman in front of her.

“I do not know what to do,” Seven confessed, voice barely a murmur. It wasn’t often that Seven would display weakness and yet, here she was in front of Janeway, bearing it all.

Knowing exactly how Seven felt, because she was feeling it too, Janeway reached out a hand to grasp Seven’s arm, hoping that Seven would find some comfort in the contact. Although she suspected it was more for herself, and felt her hand burn with the touch, with the contact of much needed human flesh that had been absent for so long, even while the rest of her body remained cold.

“Neither do I,” said Janeway. “All we can do is carry on. Get the crew home.”

Seven looked unconvinced and the doubt began to creep into Janeway too, like the vines of a deadly plant slowly tangling its way around her throat. Five years. So many losses and so much time and still nowhere near home. Janeway wondered if they ever would reach Earth again. If there was any point in even trying. If the losses they suffered justified the journey home. But what else could they do? Settle down somewhere, in an unknown part of the galaxy, where hostility met them at all sides? Should they finally just give up on everything they had been trying to get back to for the past five years?

Janeway didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know the answer that lay in the hearts of her crew. As captain it was her decision, however; her burden. One she couldn’t pass on or share with anyone else, much as she would like to. And yet, when Seven glanced down at her, blue eyes looking so lost and full of confusion at how this all could have happened, Janeway thought she could see understanding in Seven’s eyes. Like, somehow, she and Seven shared a link much like that of a drone to the Collective and Seven could feel her thoughts, her fears and doubts and she knew that each choice Janeway made was never made lightly, was never forgotten.

“Perhaps,” said Seven carefully and it was only then that Janeway really heard the exhaustion in her voice, “I could do with a few hours rest.”

“That’s a good idea,” Janeway murmured, watching as Seven shut down her console and finally left astrometrics for the first time since the accident.

Her eyes never left the retreating form, knowing in her heart that she had won the battle but not the war, that Seven was going to need a lot more time, and a lot more help, to move past this. And Janeway could only wish she could do more to help, to take the pain away.

She had never felt so helpless as a captain, as a Starfleet officer, during her whole career, during her whole life.

*

The turbolift emptied as Seven entered and for that she was grateful. She kept her head held high and ignored the passing Starfleet crew, all too aware that her usual stiff composure was nowhere to be found. She didn't want to see the judgement in their eyes. In the Borg Collective, perfection was everything. What wasn't perfect was irrelevant. But outside the Collective, things were different. Humans were different. Seven wasn't sure if they were all like this, or if it was just the Starfleet training that had made them this way. Wary of her, quick to hone in on her mistakes, her imperfection, her flaws; anything so they could separate the drone and see just an ordinary human underneath.

Ordinary. The that was something Seven could never be. It did not bother her and the arrogance it left her with, she knew, grated on those around her. Seven did not care. She did not care much for anything anymore. The pursuit of perfection was lost to her. All that mattered was the data she had been analysing, the data she had managed to clean up, separate from the mess of background space radiation and _Voyager’s_ usual signals and daily activities that left a mark. Somehow, she had began to make sense of it. She saw what her crewmates on _Voyager_ had failed to see.

There was meaning in that data. Something deliberate. Something cunning.

The turbolift reached deck 7 and Seven got off, heading towards cargo bay 2 and the liberated Borg alcoves that regenerated the parts of her that still remained Borg. She could feel the exhaustion in every step she made. The frailness of her human body finally defeating the superiority of the Borg implants. And yet her mind was still buzzing, still scanning through the data her eidetic memory had easily captured for her perusal.

 _What are you?_ she wondered. Who _are you?_

It was a mystery she was determined to solve, a story with a long awaited ending the reader was excited to reach.

Excitement wasn't what Seven felt, however; it was an unease, a determination so strong nothing and no one would get in her way. It was an anger raw and potent, with enough energy to fuel a dozen starships.

A quick scan told Seven the cargo bay was empty. She didn't have the authority to lock out everyone else but herself, but her knowledge from the Collective gave her the means to do so anyway. She couldn't risk some unsuspecting ensign - or, worse, the captain - from stumbling across what she was doing. If they discovered what she had found, what she was now doing, there was too high a chance Janeway would dismiss it.

_All we can do is carry on._

A few simple words and it was clear to Seven that Janeway had already accepted Naomi’s fate. Better to keep what she was doing hidden, work in secret until she knew for sure that what she had found would lead to the hope she was so desperate to find.

The cargo bay safely sealed, Seven carefully set up the tricorder for a continuous scan. It would look for any trace of the data signature she had found, scanning the immediate space around the ship while she regenerated. The ship’s scanners had a better range, were far more reliable and sophisticated than the handheld device could allow. It was another risk Seven had to take. If she used _Voyager’s_ sensors it would only be a matter of time before security stumbled across what she was doing.

The tricorder Seven left running next to the cargo bay’s computer console was one she had personally modified, enhancing it with Borg technology. Already, over the past few months, she had used it on several away missions, with none of the crew any wiser to her use of technology they loathed. There was so much of this ship and it's technology she could improve, if only Captain Janeway would allow her.

Seven double checked the tricorder was doing what it was supposed to be; scanning the correct frequencies, storing the data so she could analyse it thoroughly later. With an after thought, she told the computer to shut down her regeneration cycle and wake her if the tricorder picked up the elusive signal she was searching for.

Then she climbed into her alcove and slept.

*

She awoke to the sounds of alarms announcing the ship was in red alert.

In a flash, she was astute and out of her alcove, feeling refreshed despite the interrupted cycle. The bulkheads rumbled above her and _Voyager_ rocked violently to the barrage of torpedo fire. Seven could recognise the sounds of an attack anywhere and she stumbled her way towards the computer console, to the tricorder she had left scanning.

The deck beneath her feet rocked again, oddly reminding her of one of Tom Paris’s holodeck programmes he had once, and never again, had accosted her into participating in. Bondi Beach, Australia: the best place on Earth to go surfing. Seven uneasily recalled the way the waves buffeted her body, the lack of control she had felt as she gripped the board beneath her, the way her throat closed when the salt water engulfed her. Impossible to drown with the holodeck safeties turned on, but, for a few terrifying moments, Seven had felt like she would never breath again.

Now, as _Voyager_ tried to throw her off her feet, much like those waves had knocked her off the surfboard, Seven clutched tightly to the computer console to steady herself. She ignored the data and orders streaming in from the bridge, despite being conscious of further blasts to _Voyager’s_ hull, weakening the shields. She didn't think they would hold much longer. Her presence on the bridge right now would be invaluable. But she couldn't leave without checking the tricorder. Even with the harshness of the Delta Quadrant, Seven did not believe this attack was a coincidence. And she had to know for sure.

Quickly, she pulled up the data transferred from her tricorder, displaying it on the small computer console. It didn't take her long to search through it, to read each line of data and find what she had been looking for these past two weeks.

It was there. It was real. A carefully hidden disguise, but unmistakably a warp signature.

All at once, Seven’s suspicions were confirmed and she felt a chill run down her spine; a shiver of excitement for now she could act, now she could do _something_.

With hope returned, Seven became strengthened. A plan already formulating in her mind, she acted quickly; grabbing her tricorder and letting herself out of the cargo bay. Instead of turning left towards the turbolift and making her way towards the bridge, Seven turned right.

In all the chaos, no one stopped her from reaching the shuttlebay. No one confronted her as she climbed into one of the few remaining shuttles that were still fit for space travel.

No one prevented her from leaving _Voyager,_ from punching in carefully memorised coordinates into the navigation system.

And when the shuttle went into warp, it was too late for anyone aboard _Voyager_ to do anything.


	6. 2.2

_“Report!”_

The deck beneath Janeway’s feet jerked so violently that, for a moment, she thought the artificial gravity systems had been hit when she went face first into her command chair. But it was just her feet tangling with each other, causing her to stumble in the chaos.

“Report!” she ordered again, to anyone who was listening.

The bridge was currently manned by the gamma shift; members of the crew who had the unfortunate luck of being selected for the night watch that no one wanted. Janeway quickly glanced at them. Some she was less familiar with than others, but good people all the same. Out here, in the Delta Quadrant, as her working hours became ever more hectic and she spent more of her time in her ready room late into the night, she was getting to know almost everyone who worked on the bridge, regardless of shift rotation.

“Two enemy ships began firing on our starboard bow,” the ensign over at tactical reported. “No response to our hails.”

 _Voyager_ rocked again. Janeway clutched at the armrests of her chair, knuckles going white as she fought to remain in it.

“Return fire,” she ordered, giving up on the diplomatic approach before even trying.

Sparks flew from the tactical console; a dancing flicker of light that, to Janeway, looked almost pretty for a moment. Then the sparks ignited, the console exploded outwards and the unfortunate ensign manning tactical flew backwards, hitting the bulkhead behind him with a heavy, sickening crunch.

Janeway was instantly on her feet. Years of training and five years in this particular quadrant kept her upright as she stumbled towards the ensign. Chaos continued to swirl around her, but she kept her focus, eyes locked with the charring remains of a Starfleet uniform.

She reached the ensign, searched for a pulse. A sigh of relief as she felt it, faint, beneath her fingertips.

Janeway tapped her comm badge. “Medical emergency on the bridge.”

There was no response, just a static that told her communications were out.

The ship rocked again and the ensign at ops yelled at her in panic. She could see the fear in his eyes and opened her mouth to say something, to keep him calm, keep him focused. He was one of Chakotay’s former Maquis crew and it was clearly in way over his head.

“Shields are down, Captain!”

“Milne,” Janeway glanced to the lieutenant at the helm. A fine pilot, but not at Tom Paris’s level. “Get us out of here.”

The ship rocked again. There was the usual thud of a torpedo hitting the hull, but with the shields down there was also that unmistakable creak of the hull cracking open and she wasn’t surprised when the still panicking ensign over at ops reported multiple hull breaches.

Another impact and, this time, Janeway couldn’t keep herself steady. She lurched forward into the tactical console, crushing the legs of the still unconscious ensign beneath her. Fire flared in her temple. Something hot and sticky trailing down her face, dripping onto her uniform. Janeway wiped the blood away from her eyes and used the console to pull herself up onto her feet.

_Where are the senior staff?_

The gamma shift was manned by competent officers, and yet there was a reason Chakotay had assigned them bridge duty in the middle of the night. Officers who were former Maquis and not quite up to Starfleet scratch. Officers prone to panic, to hysteria, when a crisis hit unexpectedly. Janeway glanced over at Ensign Stillman at ops. His face had gone pale and his hands were shaking violently. She had to get this under control and fast. And if she had to do it without her senior staff, then fine.

But, as if the thought had summoned them, the turbolift doors swished open and out popped Tuvok, closely followed by Paris and Kim. She didn’t have time to contemplate where Chakotay was, to wonder if Torres was in engineering, if Seven was somewhere keeping the ship together. And she didn’t have to bark orders. Her crew knew what to do. Tuvok stepped towards her with a “May I, Captain?” and took over tactical. Kim relieved Ensign Stillman, who looked like he was ready to pass out as he swiftly made way for Harry to take over. Only Paris hesitated. His eyes were on the unconscious ensign on the floor, his hand automatically reaching for the first aid kit on the bridge.

“I’ve got it,” said Janeway, taking the kit from him and pulling out the medical tricorder. “Get us the hell out of here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

She ran the medical tricorder across the prone body. It gave her a basic assessment. Third degree burns on his hands and face. The uniform had protected the rest of his body. She gave him a hypospray; a cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics. There wasn’t much else she could do for him until they got him to sickbay and hopefully the doctor would be able to repair the worst of the burns.

“Captain,” said Paris and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn’t have good news. She climbed to her feet, glanced around the bridge and felt a flare of raw, heavy anger towards the alien ship who had attacked them. “We’ve lost warp.”

 _Shit,_ Janeway thought and from the startled look on Tom’s face, she realised she had muttered it aloud. Not the first time, but still not the professional image she was going for.

“Tuvok, hail them again,” she ordered. With warp engines offline, with the shields down, there was no way to win this fight. Time to try the diplomatic approach. Time to plead and hope there was a shred of decency in whoever had attacked them.

And who was that? Who’s region of space had they unwittingly found themselves in? Who was so hostile that they fired on an unknown ship before even trying to communicate?

Whoever they were, Janeway suspected that good ol’ Starfleet protocol wasn't going to work on them.

Five years and things in this quadrant still didn't get any easier. They were closer to home now, but at least in the beginning Neelix had had some familiarity with the area of space, of systems to avoid and species they could rely on for help. Now, like them, he was far from home and the wonders and the dangers of the Delta Quadrant stretched out in front of him too.

It was all unknown and it filled Janeway with a wariness that bordered on fear. Not for herself, but for her ship and her crew.

All of a sudden, with her head throbbing from the wound she had received from the tactical console, the burden of what had become her responsibility since _Voyager_ became lost was far too much. She couldn't do it. Not anymore. She was a Starfleet captain, one among many. There was nothing special about Kathryn Janeway and she had been fooling herself and her crew for years.

She would never get them home. She doubted she could even keep them all alive.

Despair, disappointment in herself, flooded through her with each throb of her temple. It was like someone had shoved her head in a tank of water. She couldn't breathe, couldn't release the grip that held her down.

They were going to die out here.

It was an outcome she had always suspected. It lurked at the corners of her mind, hidden in the shadows and only revealing itself during Janeway’s darkest moments. But always it was there.

How strange for it to end like this, though. With the unknown out there beyond the ship’s hull. They had survived the Hirogen and the Borg, and now she was going to lose to some unknown enemy.

That anger returned, like a flare in the night sky. She wanted to see these aliens who were bringing about her ship’s end. She needed to see them, to look in their eyes and ask _why._

“Captain,” said Harry. He was still at ops.

It took Janeway a moment to reintegrate herself with where she was. The bridge. Red alert. And she was still captain.

Still had a job to do.

“Someone is depressurising the shuttlebay doors,” he continued with a frown.

_What?_

“Who?” asked Janeway sharply, although she already suspected the answer. Gone was her self-indulgent despair. The anger still lingered, but it was a tight hot worry that settled in now.

Harry said nothing for a moment. Even the bridge became still, like time had stopped. Frozen at that instant. Maybe it had, Janeway thought. Crazier things had been known to happen.

“It’s Seven,” Harry finally said. He couldn't quite meet his captain's eyes.

“Beam her to the brig,” Janeway ordered, but even as she said it she wondered if it was the right choice. They were still under attack. If Seven escaped… Well, at least _someone_ would survive.

“They’re offline,” said Harry. “The shuttle has cleared the ship.”

“Tractor beam,” said Janeway. Harry shook his head and she wasn't surprised. But she wasn't willing to let Seven go so easily. Not now.

She glanced at Tuvok, but he was concentrating on his own console. He didn't seem concerned about Seven’s abrupt escape. Something else was occupying his attention. Tuvok wasn't one to frown, he was Vulcan after all, and yet Janeway had known him for many years and she could read the minutiae of his face. The slight downward curve of his mouth, the way his eyes narrowed. It told her something had him worried.

He glanced up at her. “Another ship has just dropped out of warp.”

The angry fiery heat inside Janeway suddenly became cold, like the blood in her veins had turned to ice.

They were now outnumbered three to one.

There was only one thing left to do. Only one thing she could do.

Janeway tapped her comm badge, forgetting that communications had been one of the first of the ship’s systems to short out. She would have to use the console and relay it through the computer.

The order to evacuate.

But before she could execute the command - before the computer could voice what might be her last order with _all hands abandon ship_ said in a cool, calm voice that betrayed nothing of Janeway’s regret and anguish at losing her ship, at finally being beaten - Tuvok gave her a spark of hope.

“The third ship is firing on the two enemy vessels.”

*

The alien on _Voyager’s_ viewscreen was so familiar to Janeway that for a moment she had an uncanny sensation of _deja vu._ Then her eyes began to pick out the differences; the cone shaped head ending in a sharper point, the strip down the middle of the face where a nose should have been was an iridescent white instead of the red she had seen before. And the eyes… The eyes weren't quite so harsh.

“I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship _Voyager,”_ she began as she had so many times before while lost out here in the Delta Quadrant. A redundant opening since no one in this part of the galaxy even knew what or who the Federation was. But the statement was familiar and Janeway drew comfort from it. Federation meant others, meant friends. Back-up. They were so lost and far away, but the aliens of this quadrant didn't need to know that. Not yet.

“What are you doing in Arkarra space?” the alien demanded, in a hiss that rumbled through its throat, making the scales on its neck ripple.

Janeway glanced at her first officer. He had finally made his way to the bridge after the attacks had ceased, his uniform rumpled and his bottom lip burst and swelling. He held his right arm tight to himself, keeping it still and Janeway suspected he had more than one broken bone in there.

Chakotay’s eyes warned caution. They were in no state to defend themselves if they pissed off their new saviour.

“We’re just passing through,” Janeway said carefully. “The two ships attacked us without provocation.”

The alien made a noise in the back of its throat. “Unsurprising. The T’Par have no honour.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow. T’Par… very similar in name to the T’Var trader they had encountered a few weeks ago. The similarities in features the alien on her viewscreen shared with the trader, Kovo, couldn't be a coincidence. Different factions of the same species or, like the Romulans and Vulcans, merely cousins sharing a similar path of evolution? Her anthropological curiosity would have to wait.

“You have inadvertently sailed into a war zone, Captain.”

It had certainly felt like a warzone, Janeway reflected with a wince. “I thank you for your assistance…”

“Commodore Gan,” the alien, Gan, provided. “The T’Par are likely to return with reinforcements. My ship will remain here until you can complete repairs and then escort you from the sector.”

Before Janeway could give thanks or ask even one of the dozens of questions floating around in her brain, Gan ended the transmission. The alien image disappeared from the forward viewscreen and the communications officer at the back of the bridge returned the screen to the default view of empty space outside _Voyager’s_ hull. It was impossible to tell that mere minutes ago, her ship had been under attack, on the brink of destruction.

“Friendly fellow,” said Chakotay and returned Janeway’s side-long look of contempt with a half smile. She did have to agree, however, that this Gan was practically welcoming compared to the other species native to the Delta Quadrant that they had come across over the years.

“Don't complain,” said Janeway, surveying the state of her bridge and the crew with an air of regret. “They saved our asses.”

Chakotay grunted in agreement. It sounded more like a hiss of pain and Janeway’s sharp eyes scanned him carefully.

“You should get to sickbay.”

“I'm fine,” he said and Janeway let it go. Positions reversed, she would be just as stubborn.

“Alright.” Janeway took one last glance around the bridge. It was going to be a long few hours of repairs. “Compile a list of damage reports from all departments, estimated time of repairs. I want an injury report from sickbay when they get a second and for the love of God someone turn that alarm off!” she snapped. The red alert siren had been blaring non-stop since the attack began. Whatever circuits were used to turn it off must have been damaged during one of the many torpedo barrages.

“Working on it, Captain,” said Harry Kim, not even glancing up from his console. He ducked beneath it, pulling a panel aside. After staring at it for a few moments, he finally gave a sheepish glance to his nearest colleagues and yanked out a handful of plasma coils.

The shrieking red alert siren blissfully went quiet. Janeway sighed in relief, although the sudden silence did nothing to quell the thumping in her head.

“Captain?” It was Tuvok. Somehow he had crept to her side without her noticing. “What about Seven of Nine?”

She hadn’t forgotten. Janeway just didn't want to think about it. _Goddamit, Seven. What are you doing?_ She could feel Chakotay’s frown, hear the question on his lips, but she gestured him silent with a wave of her hand. The rest of the bridge crew were busy with repairs. Two ensigns in medic blue were attending to the ensign over by the tactical console. Everyone doing their jobs. But Janeway had served with this crew long enough to be uncomfortably aware that _someone_ was bound to be listening. And this was a conversation she didn't want the rest of the ship hearing about. Not until she knew what the hell was going on, where Seven had gone and what she was doing.

She nodded towards her ready room and her two most senior officers followed.

“What’s going on?” Chakotay asked as soon as the door sealed shut behind them.

“During the attack,” explained Tuvok, “Seven of Nine commandeered one of our shuttle crafts and left the ship.”

 _“What?”_ He sounded just as shocked as Janeway had felt, but there was no surprise on his face. Just an anger, tired and hollow looking, like he had always expected something like this to happen and was annoyed he hadn’t been able to do anything to prevent it.

Janeway didn't like it, but she couldn't fault him for it either. And she needed that perspective from him. She knew her faults, perhaps better self-aware than most humans she had come across, and she knew that when it came to Seven, she had a bit of a blind spot.

“What the hell is she doing?”

Janeway shrugged; a tired slump that gave away her lack of sleep lately. “Isn't that the question of the hour? Or one of them anyway.”

Chakotay could only shake his head. “She's been different lately. Since…” But he didn't have to finish that thought. They were all too acutely aware of what he was referring to. “She's not in her right mind.”

“On the contrary, Commander,” said Tuvok. “Whatever Seven’s motivations, unknown as they are, will no doubt be inherent with logic.”

Janeway looked at him. It was a much more optimistic outlook than the one Chakotay was implying. It was a spark of hope and Janeway quickly clutched onto it. Coming from anyone else, it may have sounded like a simple empty hypothesis, but not when it came from Tuvok. There would be no logic in outlandish theories, spoken only to temper his captain’s otherwise fragile feelings.

“I agree,” she said and could tell from the way Chakotay stiffened that he clearly did not. “Tuvok, I want you to investigate this. Check her workstation, her alcove… There has to be some evidence of where she is going.”

“Aye, Captain.” Tuvok nodded and left the ready room.

When the door slid shut behind him, Chakotay gave her a heavy look. A small gesture of her hand was usually enough to forestall whatever he wanted to say, but not today.

“Captain,” he began. “The ship took heavy damages during the attack. Over a third of the crew are out of commision with injuries. Do we really-”

“I'm not about to lose someone else.” She intended to sound firm, to give him the full wattage of her command glare. Instead she just sounded tired and lost. And perhaps it was that which finally silenced his argument.

He left her then. To seek out aid in sickbay, to oversee the repairs… It hardly mattered. She could rely on him to put her ship back together.

In the privacy of her ready room, Janeway finally allowed herself to reflect on the last thirty minutes, on the last two weeks of grief and despair that had been suffocating her ship and her crew. When she sat on the couch on the upper platform of the ready room, her limbs felt heavy, her body slumping inward. She found no comfort from the soft cushions beneath her.

 _Seven, where are you?_ she wondered and could only hope that she wasn't wrong, that Seven had a reason for what she was doing. And that when she was done - and this hope she wouldn't allow herself to think of clearly, to give voice to it - that Seven was going to come back.

*

Over the next hour, more detailed damage reports made their way to the bridge. Janeway read them all off a PADD in her ready room. She wasn't hiding, exactly, but she wasn't quite ready to face her crew, to see the exhaustion and weariness in their eyes.

The consolation was that, apart from Seven, they hadn’t lost anyone. The most severe injuries ranged from third degree plasma burns to a pulverised leg; the bone had been shattered beneath a collapsed bulkhead in one of the crew quarters. All injuries that could be recovered from with just a little time.

Janeway was more concerned with the damage to the warp drive. Torres’ report, as usual, was brief. There was a haggardness to its tone and, reading between the lines, Janeway could tell B’Elanna would rather be elbow deep in dilithium than filling out Starfleet reports. Janeway had confidence that the engineering team were working as hard and as fast as possible. Yet she still felt an impatience filled with tension from the nerves that were tightly knotted within her. They were exposed here even with the T’Gar ship watching their backs. The sooner they fixed the ship, found Seven and got far away from this war, the better.

The door to her ready room chimed as someone approached from the other side.

"Come."

It was Tuvok. Despite the chaos of the last couple of hours, he looked immaculate as ever. His uniform straight and proper, not a thread out of place, no sign of any creases, not a speck of dirt. Even his face and manner did not betray that the ship had gone under serious attack just recently. He looked as fresh as if he had just come off three weeks of shore leave.

There were many things Janeway envied and admired about Vulcans, and this was definitely high up on the list. She didn't need a mirror to be aware of her own dishevelled state. Her uniform was singed in several places, her hair was likely a birds nest of a mess and there was still blood smeared on her face from when she hit the tactical console during the attack.

He stepped inside the ready room and hesitated on the other side of her desk, waiting patiently for her to put the PADD she was working on aside and focus her attention on him.

"I take it you've found something?"

"Yes, Captain." He handed her the PADD he was holding. She glanced at it and raised an eyebrow for him to explain. "I checked the console in cargo bay two. In her haste to leave the ship, it seems like Seven failed to cover her tracks."

"What was she doing?" Janeway asked.

“It seems, that in disregard of your orders, Seven was investigating Naomi Wildman’s disappearance.”

This Janeway already knew. That Seven appeared to have found something, from what she could make out from the data on the PADD Tuvok had handed her, was what she found unsettling. Why hadn’t Seven come to her with this? Why steal a shuttle and run off on her own?

“Seven found what the rest of us missed,” said Tuvok. He frowned slightly, the only indication he gave that this bothered him. He had been her security chief long before they found themselves lost in the Delta Quadrant, and she knew how his Vulcan pride must be taking this error. But it was her error too and it wasn’t until then, with Tuvok standing before her in her ready room and the rest of her ship in disarray, that she realised how easily she had given up.

Janeway eyed the data PADD still sitting at the corner of her desk. The report still unfinished. Maybe she hadn’t given up quite so easily after all. Seven certainly hadn’t, but she had believed that the rest of them had, she believed _Janeway_ had.

_We carry on. We get the crew home._

Such empty words of sentimentality that meant nothing at all. And now Seven was out there on her own when she should have had the whole crew behind her, when Janeway should have been there with her too.

“She was using a modified tricorder to scan for the warp signature she found,” Tuvok continued. “When _Voyager_ was attacked, the signature was similar enough that-”

“Wait,” said Janeway. She stood up too fast and all the blood went rushing to her head, causing the still unhealed wound at her temple to throb with fresh pain. “Warp signature?”

“Yes, Captain. It's not an exact match, however, but certainly enough of a fresh lead to inspire Seven.”

And definitely not a coincidence. The anger Janeway had felt on the bridge flared up once more. An unprovoked attack that had almost destroyed her ship was one thing, but to know that the T’Par may somehow be involved with Naomi Wildman’s disappearance… It was more than anger that burned in her blood. A fury she did not feel often. A fury that she feared. There was no stopping her when this fury took over.

“I think it's time we had a longer chat with our new T’Gar friends.”

*

It was with great reluctance that Commodore Gan agreed to come aboard _Voyager._ The T’Gar had no transporter technology, and with _Voyager’s_ own transporters still offline, it was in a small shuttle that Gan - and the T’Gar security entourage that accompanied the alien captain - arrived in. Tuvok went to greet them in the shuttlebay with his own security team and then escorted the small group to the conference room. Here Janeway and Chakotay waited.

She had filled in her first officer with the details of what Tuvok had found, but opted to keep it quiet from the rest of the crew for now. Chakotay had listened patiently and said nothing. Although Janeway could see the flicker in his eyes that told her he was already beginning to form his own conclusions on the situation. He would wait until they spoke with Gan, until they had all the facts they could get. Then he would speak and Janeway would have to listen. She had a feeling she wouldn't like what he had to say. As well as she could read him, her first officer could predict her actions just as well. He probably knew what she was going to do before she had even decided on a course of action.

It wasn't until Gan took the seat opposite her that she realised that, no matter the outcome of this conversation, regardless of whatever fresh information they received, there was only one thing Janeway could do. And nothing Chakotay could say would change her mind.

Two T’Gar security officers stood flanked at either side of Gan. They wore all black; some kind of shiny leather like material. They wore black helmets that covered their face, revealing nothing of the alien physique underneath apart from the slit of amber eyes that roamed the room with an alertness that left Janeway unsettled. Blasters of some kind were attached to their hips. Janeway was surprised Tuvok had allowed them to remain armed, but she trusted his judgement on the matter.

Gan’s stature was smaller than _Voyager’s_ viewscreen had implied and now that she saw the two T’Gar security officers, tall and thin beneath their uniforms, she deduced that they were male and Gan was female. Working out if the T’Gar even used male and female pronouns was another mystery she wasn't currently interested in trying to solve. She would let the universal translators deal with any mishaps.

“Captain Janeway.” Gan pressed two clawed fingers to her forehead, running them down the strip of white that bisected her alien face. A form of greeting, Janeway understood, but didn't return it.

“Commodore Gan.” Janeway nodded in greeting  and then gestured for Chakotay to hand the T’Gar a PADD. The two black-clad security officers stiffened as if he had just presented a bomb. “Just information I’d like you to look at,” Janeway assured their guests. A brief look from Gan settled her security detail and she took the PADD from Chakotay.

Gan studied the PADD for a few moments. Janeway wasn’t experienced enough with this species to read the facial expressions that flickered across Gan’s face.

“Not long ago,” Janeway explained, “we crossed paths with an alien called Kovo. He presented himself as a T’Var trader - a  tregtar - and we came to a fair deal to acquire some parts for our warp drive. I won’t bore you with details of the negotiation, but it seems this Kovo managed to acquire more than what was originally agreed.”

“Yes,” Gan said in agreement. The PADD she held only showed the data Seven had interpreted into a warp signature, but the T’Gar seemed to understand what had happened immediately. “A child?”

“I want to know why and how,” said Janeway with an iciness that chilled the room. It was a tone that was even familiar to the T’Gar and Gan nodded with a small degree of reluctance.

“Our war has spanned generations, Captain. Hundreds of years of conflict, of fire and death. Many times my people have sought peace, but the T’var and T’Par… they seem to relish in the fighting. It fuels their blood. This death and destruction… it is a way of life with them and neither of them care who else gets caught up in the conflict.”

“Lone ships passing through, for example?” said Janeway.

Gan nodded. “As you saw today, the T’Par are blunt in their brutality. They attack any and all alien ships they come across. They would have boarded you had we not arrived; salvaged what they could and slaughtered your crew. Perhaps some would have been taken as prisoners, although death would be far preferable than the life that would follow.

“The T’Var are far more cunning. They do not have the number and strength of ships as the T’Par or my people do. Instead they resort to treachery and sneaking to steal what technology they can from us and other races outside the conflict.”

“And use it to steal children too,” said Janeway, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. She remembered the trader Kovo in vivid detail now, remembered the keen interest he had shown as soon as his amber alien eyes had spotted Naomi. She had been uneasy by it then and rushed to get the alien off her ship. As soon as he had transported away, Janeway had let her guard down and somehow he had come back, stolen Naomi Wildman without any of them realising, leaving them thinking it had been some sort of freak accident.

Except for Seven of Nine.

Seven had gleaned what the rest of them had failed to see. She hadn’t given up and now she was out there, alone, searching for Naomi when Janeway and _Voyager_ should have been by her side.

“Why take the children?” asked Chakotay. He stood just behind Janeway and she couldn't see his face, couldn’t read his thoughts on the information Gan was revealing to them.

“Two generations ago, the T’var took heavy casualties,” Gan explained. “The T’Par almost wiped them out. They have yet to recover their numbers from the loss. Instead of seeking peace, an alliance as my people had hoped, the T’Var embraced their cunning ways. They barely fight themselves anymore. Far safer to steal away alien children, brainwash and train them to fight.”

To know that Naomi Wildman might be alive did nothing to quench the fear and grief in Janeway’s gut. Over two weeks had passed since Naomi’s disappearance. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the child had been through in that time.

As soon as she was old enough to talk, Naomi had expressed her desire to join her fellow crewmates as a Starfleet officer, with ambitions of joining the bridge crew and someday becoming a captain herself. Her mother, the adults around her responsible for her education had always encouraged her. Janeway knew Naomi had absolute faith in Starfleet, in _Voyager_ and her crew. In her captain. But in the days that followed her capture, with no rescue imminent, how much had her faith and trust diminished? Janeway had let her down, let the whole crew down. She had given up, accepted the obvious lie and let her guilt and inner despair take over.

“Where would they have taken her?” asked Janeway.

For a long moment, Gan remained silent. “Forgive me, Captain. But no one returns from Kavarka Prison.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” said Janeway with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m getting my people back, one way or another.”

“People?” said Gan, the white part of her face seemed to ripple.

Fascinated, Janeway realised this was how the species conveyed emotion; tiny changes in shade and tone of the white stripe. She thought back to Kovo and his red stripe. She couldn’t remember if it had ever changed shade. A feature limited to T’Gar biology then? Or had the T’var “trader” been as cunning as Gan had suggested, hiding his emotion, his intentions, even from a race of aliens who had never encountered his species before? Under other circumstances, Janeway would have loved nothing more than to sit with Gan and share details of both their cultures, biology, way of life. But there were more pressing matters at hand and Janeway couldn’t afford to get sidetracked with Naomi still out there lost.

Chakotay said, “The member of our crew who deciphered the data you are holding left on a shuttle during the T’Par attack. We believe she intends to track down Kovo and discover what he did.”

Again, Gan was silent. It permeated the room around them like the vacuum of space was consuming them all.

“I am sorry, Captain Janeway, but I cannot help you.”

It was the answer Janeway had been expecting, but it still felt like a blow to her gut. Without Gan’s help, they would never catch up with Seven.

“All I’m asking,” said Janeway carefully, aware she had no right to ask the T’Gar for anything after they had helped them so much already, “is that you give us the location of this prison.”

“You would attempt a rescue mission even with your ship in such disrepair?” Gan sounded aghast, perhaps impressed, Janeway couldn’t be sure.

“Yes,” she said softly and she wondered if Gan could hear what she couldn’t keep hidden any longer. The despair, the compulsion. Tuvok never moved from his position at the doorway, his face a stone mask as always, and yet she knew he could sense it. Any other Vulcan would have been disgusted by the display of emotion, especially from a Starfleet captain, but not Tuvok. She expected Chakotay to protest. He was a good first officer and it was his job to question the captain, to keep her grounded, provide the counter argument to her decisions. But for now he remained silent. To Gan, they would present a united front. “I have to try.”

For what seemed like a long time - too long; an eternity seemed to pass in the conference room before Janeway’s eyes - Gan stared at Janeway. It was an unnerving stare but Janeway never wavered; she met those amber, alien eyes with her own cold, grey ones and wondered what Gan saw in them.

At last, Gan spoke.

“Honour bound me and my ship to assist you against the T’Par. We avoid conflict when we can, but my people cannot abide others outside this fight to fall.”

There was that word again. _Honour._ In many ways, the T’Gar reminded Janeway of the Klingons and yet their desire for peace, for an end to the fighting was as far removed from the Klingon warrior ideals as anything could be.

The T’gar really were a fascinating race.

“Your loyalty and determination are a rare facet, indeed. Very well, Captain,” said Gan. “I will help you.” The security guard on Gan’s left swivelled his helmeted head around in shock, but Gan ignored him. “On one condition.”

_Ah, the catch._

Janeway nodded for Gan to continue.

“My ship will escort you to Kavarka Prison. We will assist in the rescue of your crew members. In return, you will owe us an indebtitude.”

“A favour,” said Janeway. Gan paused, as if considering the turn of phrase, before nodding in agreement. Before she could change her mind, before she could consider all the consequences, Janeway said, “Alright, we have a deal.”


	7. 2.3

From orbit, the planet had a distinctive pink hue threaded with irregular grey-blue patches that revealed what remained of the desert world’s oceans. Once they might have been vast, but time and exposure to twin suns had been harsh on life on this planet. A quick scan revealed only a small portion of the planet was currently inhabited; the most densely populated appearing to be that of a small city settlement in the southern hemisphere. This was where Seven of Nine, formerly of the Borg Collective, programmed the shuttle’s transporter to send her.

Just outside of the city, amongst a landscape made up of rocks and boulders, some bigger than the shuttlecraft itself, Seven materialised in a sparkle of blue. As soon as all her molecules reintegrated themselves she opened her tricorder and did a quick scan of the area. No life signs within a two mile radius and no indication of any technology picking up her sudden appearance.

Right now,  _ Voyager’s _ shuttlecraft, the  _ Cochrane, _ was on autopilot, guiding itself behind the planet’s small moon where, she hoped, it would remain hidden until it was time to escape the hot and dusty alien world.

Seven did a quick survey of herself to check she and her equipment were all in one piece. As well as her trusty Borg enhanced tricorder, she had strapped a phaser to her waist and had already set it to a heavy stun. Alone, in the shuttlecraft she had stolen from  _ Voyager, _ Seven had contemplated a more deadly setting. After all, she wasn’t sure what she would face down there on the desert planet. And yet something had stopped her, held her back. It was the image of her captain, a face so familiar to Seven she could easily recall every detail of it in her mind. It was a look of disappointment that had haunted her on her journey to Kovar, the desert homeworld of the T’Var and it was that look that kept her restrained from blasting her phaser at every lizard looking T’Var she came across.

Two days since she had left  _ Voyager _ and in that time, Seven had not rested, had not regenerated her Borg implants. She hadn’t needed to. Gone was the exhaustion she had been feeling in the wake of Naomi Wildman’s disappearance. Adrenaline and fury fueled her now.

She set off in the direction of the city, each step careful and calculated as she navigated through the boulder field. It took her over an hour to reach the outskirts and by then the twin suns were low in the sky. Night was falling on Kovar.

It had taken Seven far longer than she would have liked to reach here. There was a sense of time slipping away, evading her grasp. It was only a matter of time before the T’Var discovered and stopped her. Or perhaps  _ Voyager _ had managed to follow her here and at any moment now she would be beamed into the brig, where she would remain for the rest of the long journey back to the Alpha Quadrant.

She could live with that confinement, Seven thought. She had no regrets over what she had done. Her only fear was that she was too late, that Naomi had met her fate and Seven’s flight from  _ Voyager _ was all for nothing.

With the twin suns burning hot on her skin during her long walk to the city, she had plenty of time to think of her last moments on  _ Voyager. _ The blare of the red alert siren, the way the deck and hulls had rattled with torpedo fire… She had abandoned her crew, her collective, right when they had needed her the most.

_ But Naomi needs me too. _

Once again the face of Captain Kathryn Janeway floated to the forefront of her mind. If Seven could wish for anything she wished that her captain had made it through the fight safe and when -  _ if _ \- Seven returned, alone or accompanied, she hoped the captain would understand why Seven had done what she did.

Darkness had fallen completely when Seven made her way into the city. The buildings were tall but primitive, the streets composed of the hardened pink brick that seemed to cover the entire planet in its unrefined form. She kept to the shadows easily and made her way through the streets without being seen by any of the T’Var. Few seemed to be out in the dark, and the lizard aliens she encountered all had the same red stripe down their face as the trader that had been on  _ Voyager. _ None of them were Kovo, however and it was unlikely she would encounter him on the dark and dusty streets in a city unfamiliar to her. Yet she kept walking, her eyes taking note of each road, each junction, each building that she passed until she had a rough map in her head and several likely hiding places if it came to that.

Soon she reached a busy, noisy part of the city. More T’Var flowed through the streets and Seven spotted some humanoid aliens amongst them too. But they were few and far between and that ever expanding intuition of Seven’s told her they were dangerous and would do best to give them a wide berth.

So much unknown around her. She didn't like it. The only information she had on this planet and its system was what she had gleamed in astrometrics aboard  _ Voyager. _ That the starship was so close to the T’Var homeworld was unsettling, but she couldn't help the thrill of enjoyment that came when she pictured Captain Janeway using the full might of the Federation against these people. Well… the full might of one ship. And, Seven had to concede, it was unlikely Janeway would ever condone, let alone initiate, such a brutal assault.

But Seven would. She would burn them all to get to Naomi, ignore everything Janeway and her friends on  _ Voyager _ had taught her since freeing her from the Borg. Which was why she had to do this alone. Because only Seven of Nine, former Borg drone, could do what needed to be done.

The nightlife on Kovar was raucous and wild. Seven watched several of the T’Var as they descended upon the bars and taverns that seemed to take up a great deal of the eastern side of the city. But even as they stumbled through doorways, reeking of sour alcohol and smoke she thought maybe similar to Earth’s use of tobacco, there was a caution in each of the T’Var, a restraint. Seven listened from afar, used her tricorder to hack into the ultranet computer system the T’Var used to monitor the planet and nearby space. She learned of the war they were caught up in with their two sister races, the T’Par and T’Gar. A war spanning centuries with seemingly no end in sight. T’Var government propaganda depicted the fight in their favour, but from the look of the green lizard aliens Seven could see drowning their sorrows in the city of Kavar, that depiction may be somewhat less than accurate.

But the war and the two other races explained the similar warp signature she had picked up when  _ Voyager _ was attacked. Perhaps, once, the three species had shared a peace and culture and technology, before the hatred and the fighting took over their blood.

In the shadows Seven hid. Hours passed and each one felt loud as it ticked away, as if they were counting down to something dreadful and unavoidable. It was still dark when she finally made a move. Dawn was still far away and much of the night remained. The T’Var did not seem eager to stop in their drinking and merrymaking. She chose one of the taverns at the end of a narrow street where it lay almost hidden from the rest of the city. As Seven had watched, few T’Var had entered the premises, but each one that did had the tired and dirty look about them of a person who was used to hard labour. She would start here; ask her questions and demand answers until she found the T’Var she was looking for.

The smell of alcohol was even worse inside. It was a scent unfamiliar to Seven, whose only experience of the intoxicant was synthetic replicated liquids on  _ Voyager.  _ The smell reminded her of damp leaves, rotting on the ground as autumn slowly turned to winter. A memory, she realised, one faint and not her own. She did not dwell on it for long.

It was dark in the tavern, as it was out in the streets. The T’Var seemed to avoid bright light, thrived at night when the twin suns had disappeared from the skies, taking all warmth and colour with them. Groups of T’Var huddled in corners filled with shadow, whispering in that hissing language of theirs. It took a moment for her presence to be felt. It was the barman that noticed her first, his amber eyes glowing at her through the dim. Then the others began to notice her too, and an eerie hush filled the room.

Seven stepped up to the bar, aware of all the eyes watching her carefully. Humanoids were rare, as she had seen, and she thought perhaps females even more so. Her Borg implants reflected the low light cast by lanterns on the edge of the bar and she was sure they stood out far more than her humanity.

The Borg may have never deemed the T’Var worth assimilating, but that didn’t mean the Delta Quadrant natives had no knowledge of them. The Collective had spread far and wide in this quadrant, only breaching the Alpha Quadrant in the last decade or so. Everyone in this part of the galaxy had cause to fear her.

Except the T’Var…

They knew what she was and either did not care or did not see a sole former drone as a threat. As she stepped up to the bar, the low hissing chatter resumed and the T’Var went back to their drinks. She still felt many pairs of eyes on her, but she ignored them.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said and the T’Var behind the bar glanced at the sole customer perched on a stool at the opposite end, sipping at a murky yellow drink. “His name is Kovo. He may be a trader, he may not. But I need to find him. Quicky.”

A hiss of air escaped the the thin slits of nostril on the barman’s face and it took Seven a moment to realise he was laughing at her.

Resistance she had been prepared for, but not this… Not this mockery.

Anger flushed through her. If not for her years as a drone, for the carefully controlled emotions as they had slowly begun to come back to her over the last two years, she was sure that anger would have appeared as a red stain on her cheeks. Seven kept it under control, waited for the barman to get over his amusement. Her face was stern, cold, reminiscent of the Borg she had been. It silenced the ugly alien laughter.

Amber eyes darted to the left. Seven moved quicker.

One hand reached out and grabbed the barman roughly by his dirty white tunic. The other reached for her phaser. From the corner of her eye she saw the lone drinker of the ghastly yellow alcohol stretch and lean over the bar. Golden orange phaser fire hit him in the upper left chest, close to his shoulder and he toppled over backwards from the force of it, landing in a heap by the barstool.

All at once the atmosphere in the tavern changed. The huddled groups in the corners revealed themselves from the shadows. Some were armed, angry. Others were wary and clutching their drinks.

Seven pressed the end of her phaser to the barman’s throat. “Tell your customers to sit and drink.”

For a moment he did nothing, said nothing. Then he hissed out her command and the rest of the T’Var slowly retreated back to their stools. Some snuck out in the chaos, slipping through the tavern doors and out into the night.  _ Good, _ thought Seven. She had ensured her presence would be noticeable the moment she had walked into the tavern and had kept her voice in a clear and even pitch as she spoke to the barman. The whole tavern knew she was looking for a trader named Kovo and soon, perhaps, the whole city would too. 

He would come to her, she was sure. And if not Kovo himself then perhaps someone with a grudge against him.

*

She repeated the same process in several more taverns, each with varying degrees of resistance from the local T’Var. Grey light was approaching over the city’s horizon when she sensed she was being followed.

After hours of wandering the streets, Seven was familiar with the curves and dead ends that made up the east quarter of the city. There was no pattern to it; streets were often attached to other, larger ones at random and some narrowed so far at one end when they ran out of space between buildings that not even a child could slip through the gap into the next road beyond.

Back at that first tavern, looking even more dilapidated in the gloom of dawn, she heard the footsteps, the shallow breaths, the slithering hiss of an alien tongue. Seven ignored it and kept walking. When she walked straight passed the tavern, they still followed and Seven turned a corner sharply, hid in the shadows and waited for whoever it was to follow her.

They did. Covert operations wasn’t in this particular T’Var’s repertoire. Seven grabbed them as they turned the corner, exploiting the Borg enhanced strength she had to push the T’Var against the pink brick wall, with her phaser pressed hard into his gut.

“Why are you following me?” Seven demanded. It was only after the words had left her mouth that she realised this T’Var was far smaller than any she had come across that night. He cowered under her grip, his amber eyes opening as far as they would go. Even through the alien features, Seven could tell he was terrified. The red stripe down his face had a faded look to it, like an artist had been painting it in place but hadn’t quite finished yet.

This was no adult T’Var.

Seven loosened her grip.

“I know who you’re looking for,” said the adolescent T’Var. “I can take you to Kovo.”

Seven eyed him carefully. This was what she had been hoping for. That someone in the city would lead her to Kovo, and Kovo in turn would lead her to Naomi. But it felt too easy. It felt like a trap. That human intuition again. Seven was starting to get rather fond of it.

She gestured for the T’Var to move and this time she followed him. They walked for a long time, reaching a part of the city Seven hadn’t been to yet. The unfamiliar streets made her uneasy and she kept a tight grip on her phaser, kept her Borg senses heightened. “Where are we going?” Seven asked once but she received no answer and didn’t enquire again.

Finally, the young T’Var stopped. For a moment, Seven thought he was lost. He had led her to what appeared to be the industrial part of the city; large buildings crammed together with tall spires that spat out yellow sickly looking smoke. So much of it that the air was thick with it where they stood. Seven tried not to breathe it in, but realised it was impossible. If the smoke was toxic, she could only hope whatever its effects were, they weren't long lasting and hopefully treatable by  _ Voyager’s _ CMO.

_ If _ she made it back to  _ Voyager. _

Seven tried not to think about it, how likely she was to fail. And even if she didn't fail… would Janeway want her back aboard her ship after everything Seven had done?

So many times Seven had ignored Janeway’s orders and done something she thought was more efficient. More Borg. And so many times Janeway had been angry, disappointed, perhaps tempted to lock her in the brig until they reached the Alpha Quadrant or passed near a Borg cube they could leave her with. How many more times could Seven betray the tentative trust she and Janeway had built together? How long until it shattered? Until the captain had had enough?

No time to dwell on it now, to allow her ever growing imagination to spiral.

The T’Var motioned towards the ground. Seven blinked at him then at the spot where he had indicated. Just more of that pink brick, except in this part of the city it was stained a dull orange, making it look brittle and cracked.

“Down there,” he said when Seven failed to move. Once again she looked where he was pointing. This time she saw it. The spherical shape embedded in the ground. Some sort of metal covering, hidden beneath the dust and dirt of a busy and well-populated city. Seven watched as the T’Var lifted the covering. It was heavy, solid, and he struggled under the weight of it. He stepped aside when he was done, allowing Seven to peer through the hole into the darkness below.

“What is down there?” she asked, the intuition screaming in her head like  _ Voyager’s _ red alert siren.

“Answers,” said the T’Var.

To go down there, into the unknown and alone, would be foolish. But she remembered Naomi then, her curiosity, her bravery. So few of the Starfleet officers aboard  _ Voyager _ had even spoken to Seven unless they had to, and there was Naomi, a child, a lonely lost little girl, who had walked up to Seven one day out of curiosity and decided they should be friends. It had never bothered her that Seven was Borg, that the other adults around her all shied away from Seven in fear. Seven remembered a small hand in her own, countless games of kadis kot in the mess hall, a smile and a giggle that was so innocent, so pure, it always surprised Seven, always led to a smile of her own.

It may be a trap, may be foolish, but it was also Seven’s only option. The only lead to Naomi Wildman that she had.

Thick metal bars had been soldered into the wall of the hole; a vertical tunnel that seemed endless. Seven put a foot on the first bar, deemed it steady enough to hold her weight, and began to climb down. No two metal bars were the same and they seemed to have been embedded into the wall at random. Some were so close together Seven bypassed a bar altogether. Others had such huge gaps between them that she had to be careful as she reached down for it with her foot, her heart thudding for a few precious moments when she reached nothing but air and only calming when she felt the solid press of metal on her sole.

When she had climbed down a short distance, Seven looked up. The hole had gotten smaller and light was struggling to penetrate the darkness. Her T’Var guide was silhouetted at the top, watching her decent. He wasn't following.

“How far down?” she asked, but he didn't answer. She tried to speak again, to shout the questions she so desperately needed the answers to, but it was clear he wasn't listening. There was nothing she could do as he disappeared from view. The sound of metal scraping against brick echoed down the hole and dark began to spread over, like she was watching a solar eclipse.

One final  _ thud _ and it was just Seven and the darkness. She clung to the makeshift metal ladder and reviewed her options: climb back up, use her Borg strength to move the heavy cover and get as far away from this city as she needed to for the computer on the  _ Cochrane _ to beam her aboard. Or… keep going down. Into the unknown, into danger. Find the answers to which she seeked.

Perhaps her choice was reckless, but all her actions thus far could be viewed the same way.

Seven climbed down.

The bottom was far and if it wasn’t for Seven’s internal chronometer, she could have believed that hours had passed, days. The further Seven descended, the more the temperature continued to drop, but the continuous movement kept her warm. When her foot hit something that didn’t give off the clang the rest of the metal bars of the ladder had, she knew she had reached the bottom.

It was still dark. Her eyes struggled to adjust; all she could make out were black shapes amongst shadows of more black. Sweat trailed down her forehead and the muscles in her legs and arms ached. A sign, far clearer than any exhaustion she may have felt, that she had gone too long without a full regeneration cycle. Her implants were failing. Or were at least shutting down what the Borg had deemed the least important functions, such as regulating her internal temperature and filtering the lactic acid from her blood. Her human systems, she was glad to note, seemed to be coping with their newfound responsibilities. It was Seven herself who was struggling with the change. She had been Borg for so many years, her life as Annika Hansen almost forgotten from her memory. In the two years she had been aboard  _ Voyager, _ Seven had still had a number of internal and external implants; those the Doctor deemed too important to be removed, too dangerous to attempt. She was used to being Borg, to being stronger than her crewmates, to being able to think quicker and calculate complex equations in her head in almost an instant. Human physiology was unfamiliar to her. She felt weak, unlike herself. Was this what Janeway felt all the time? Chakotay and Tom Paris? Did they see themselves as weak or was it all perfectly normal to them?

All Seven knew was that she didn’t like it. And the sooner she found Kovo, discovered what he had done to Naomi Wildman, the sooner she could get back to  _ Voyager  _ and her regeneration alcove. She wasn’t sure how long she could last without it and what would happen if all her implants failed entirely. 

Seven felt along the wall as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The stone was rough and cold beneath her fingertips and was shaped into a square, narrow corridor. She followed along in the only direction she could, her footsteps echoing along in front and behind her, eliminating all ideas she may have had about approaching unnoticed towards whatever unknown lay in front of her.

Finally, the darkness seemed to become a less all consuming blackness that it had been since she had started her descent into the tunnel. Up ahead she could see light. Not the bright, warm light of a sun. Nor the fluorescent harshness of a man made source.

It was a green glow.

Seven stilled, heart thudding in her chest as her breathing grew more rapid like she had just finished the final round of a rather vigorous velocity game.

_ Borg, _ she thought and the fear was stronger than anything she had ever known.

But it wasn’t the Borg, it couldn’t be. She would have sensed them. Would have felt the calling of the Collective, the urge to become one of many.

Seven forced her legs to move, to carry her forwards towards the glow. As she approached, the walls became smoother, more irregular in shape until the ceiling was curving above her. The tunnel down from the city and along what she had travelled so far had been forged by machinery. Ahead, the tunnels and passages had the look of a natural formation. Millennia ago, the flow of water - or perhaps even some form of magma - had cut paths below the planet’s crust. So many of them, Seven realised, the further she went in, that a whole network had formed beneath the surface.

The passage opened up ahead of her and when Seven stepped through into a large cavern, easily the size of a starship, her breath caught in her throat. In between the rocks, the stalactites and stalagmites, the T’Var had built themselves an underground city. Walls and roof built from rocks and some other material Seven couldn’t identify. She opened her tricorder and scanned the nearest shack as she made her way down a slope into the bottom of the cavern. The steps that had been carved into the stone were definitely not natural.

As she got closer, what she had perceived as some sort of thick, white material covered with engravings, was actually more transparent. So much of it had been bundled together and stretched to form the makeshift walls and roofs. No sheet of it was the same and as she scanned it with her tricorder, Seven discovered it was organic in nature.  _ Skin, _ she realised. The T’Var must go through some form of ecdysis and instead of wasting the old skin, they used it to build their city. The engravings on the walls were the leftover impressions of the scales that covered their reptile-like bodies.

She was surrounded by the shedded skin of T’Var long dead.

None of the green glowing material was found on any of the skin. Instead, it covered the rocks that rose like pillars to the high ceiling. Seven, once confirming it was non-toxic, reached out a hand. It was soft and moist, some sort of moss or lichen that provided the T’Var with a natural underground light source.

No wonder there had been so few of the T’Var out in the city during the day; the majority of them emerged at night. They had evolved down here in the dark, survived here for millennia. Given the level of technological advancement in the city above, Seven deduced the T’Var had only been surface dwelling for a mere fraction of their species existence. The smoke spouting factory district, where the young T’Var had led her to the tunnel entrance, indicated the T’Var were on the cusp of an industrial age. So where had they gotten the technology for space flight? There was little evidence of it from what Seven had seen on the shuttle scanners in orbit. By all accounts the T’Var should have been wiped out long ago.

They were resilient, though, and sometimes resilience could make all the difference between life and extinction.

As Seven walked through the underground city, she wondered how many others were hidden below the planet’s surface, how many still inhabited? This one looked like it had been empty for a long time. Seven’s tricorder continued to scan, collecting so much data that Seven would have been fascinated to study under other circumstances. Not today, though. Today it was irrelevant and the one thing she was looking for seemed to be evading her sensors.

Had the adolescent T’Var led her down here, not into a trap, but to simply keep her out of the way, lost in these vast networks of caves and tunnels? Anyone else probably would, but Seven had enough functioning implants that she could recall the path she had taken with the ease of looking at a map. So there was no hesitation in Seven’s footsteps as she ventured deeper into the underground city.

Each step was loud, her breathing somehow like an alarm system in the silence of this dead city.  _ Creepy  _ was how B’Elanna Torres might have described it and Seven could only agree. Being surrounded by the shed skin of a thousand dead T’Var didn’t help.

The further Seven moved, the more varied the architecture became. The outskirts of the city had been built up of small shacks, square in shape, each of them put together in a way so similar they could have been mass produced. The inner city was more complex. Buildings were bigger, more thought had been put into their design. Buildings as tall as the large cavern would allow, their shape curved until tall spires reached up to the cavern roof in a conical shaped point. There was more of the green moss here too, actually built into the design of the buildings themselves, allowing the walls to glow. Though the ghastly green looked more threatening than welcoming, Seven thought.

Still no signs of life. No Kovo, no trap. Should she turn back, resume her search in the taverns of the upper city? Or keep going until she found something? Until she reached the other end of the city?

How much easier it had been to make choices as part of the Borg, when she was not one mind, when the decision was taken out of Seven’s hands and the Collective used its many minds to pick the more efficient course of action. But she didn’t have the Collective anymore. Didn’t have Starfleet officers giving her orders. She was alone. For the first time in her life, truly alone.

A shiver rippled down Seven’s back, like a spider crawling down her spine. What would Janeway do, she wondered.  _ We carry on.  _ But carry on where?

That sensation again, of something on her back, moving lightly. She suppressed a flinch, kept still, straining all her senses, both Borg and human alike. Something was behind her. Seven was sure of it.

Swiftly, Seven turned, her free hand on the handle of her phaser. She blinked at the empty air, at the green glow that was beginning to make her eyes hurt, at the dead skin that seemed to be watching her, mocking her.

She was alone. Just imagining things. But when did Seven’s imagination develop so far it had turned into paranoia?

She was so far from everything and everyone that she knew. There was no Federation databanks she could spend hours researching, no Doctor to listen to her questions, to ultimately confuse her more as he tried to explain things in his own, inexperienced way.

No Janeway.

_ We carry on. _

She had to find Naomi. She _had_ _to._ Otherwise everything would be for nothing and she wasn’t about to let imagination or paranoia or whatever it was get the best of her. This city was creepy, but it was _empty_ and somewhere within the vast tunnels and caverns were the answers she sought.

Still, she kept her hand on her phaser as she resumed her course. Experience had taught her that if the worst  _ could _ happen, then it most definitely would.

Seven had barely walked two paces before she felt it again. Twice she could blame on her imagination, but a third time… Yet her scans showed nothing unusual. There was simply nothing there. Just like there hadn’t been on  _ Voyager _ \- until there was and Naomi had been taken. Someone  _ had _ taken her, someone who could fool the starship’s sensors. 

Carefully, slowly, Seven kept moving. She eased the phaser out of its holster, holding it down at her side as she continued to walk. Maybe she had been wrong about the dead skin on the buildings watching her, but something - someone -  _ was _ following her. She waited, kept walking. Pretended to check her tricorder readings. Even forced herself to frown as it continued to tell her nothing of use. Then she felt it behind her, that crawling down her back. Always the same. Almost like… She was walking into some sort of energy field.

With her next step, Seven turned, swinging the phaser up in front of her. There was no time to aim. She could only fire. 

A burst of orange light, the familiar buzz as the energy was unleashed. Seven was firing into empty air, but the beam of her phaser stopped abruptly barely a foot in front of her, hitting an invisible barrier.

The thing that had been watching her, following her.

No, not a thing.  _ A person. _

The air rippled in front of Seven. She didn’t dare stop firing her phaser and could only watch as out of the ripples, colour and shape began to appear; a hazy blurred mess, like a splattering of paint on canvas. Then, slowly, the shapes and colours began to take form, sort themselves out, revealing the tall, green scaled form of an alien. Red line splitting down the face. Cold amber eyes.

Kovo.

Something sizzled and the rippling effect ceased. Whatever cloaking device Kovo was using had failed under the fire of her phaser. She took her finger off the trigger and darkness plunged around them without its bright, golden light. A hiss of expletives and then Kovo launched himself at her. He had no weapons, only thin, sharp deadly looking claws that slashed at her face.

Seven darted backwards. The claw missed her eye, but her cheek stung as it scraped smoothly down her skin. Kovo was still coming, using the force of his body weight against her. And, just like that day on the holodeck, Seven was involved in a collision that sent her phaser flying. Kovo was on top of her, knocking the wind out of Seven’s lungs. His sharp teeth bared in a snarl, the tips of his claws swiping violently. Seven grabbed his wrists, the tip of a claw barely a nanometer from her face. He was aiming for her eyes, for the ocular implant. Kovo struggled, but he couldn’t best her Borg strength.

Bending his wrist back with her implant covered hand, Seven waited until she heard the snap of bone, heard Kovo’s howl of pain and then shoved him off her. He cowered on the dusty ground, cradling his wrist and hissing at her wildly.

Seven didn’t bother looking for her phaser. She didn’t need a weapon. Seven had claws of her own.

Two thin tubules shot out of her left hand.

“You will tell me what you did to Naomi Wildman.” Seven’s voice was cold, deadly. Borg.

“No!” Kovo hissed. He was breathing heavily, eyes never leaving the tubules, the red stripe on his face turning a dark shade of purple. He was afraid, just as afraid as Naomi must have been.

“Yes,” said Seven, “you will.” Without further warning, the Borg tubules shot forwards, embedding themselves in the base of Kovo’s throat. “Your knowledge will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”

*

PADDs covered the surface of Janeway’s desk. Even more could be found on the coffee table on the upper part of her ready room. Damage reports, lists of injuries, analyses of the ships that had attacked them, the ship that had saved them. So much bureaucracy, even in the Delta Quadrant. What was the point?

Janeway’s temple flared and she pinched the bridge of her nose to ease some of the pain, closed her eyes to shut out the light. The Doctor had treated the wound on her temple, but she had refused the hypospray of painkillers. Wanted to keep a clear head. Thirty hours later and she wished she had just listened to her CMO for once.

Each PADD seemed to give more bad news and Janway was sick of it. Too many repairs needing done and too much time needed to do it. Meanwhile, every second spent here was another second Naomi Wildman was alone out there, lost. Had Seven found her? Were they safe? Or was Gan telling the truth about this prison? How could one woman - former Borg or not - possibly breach the security of a prison’s walls, even reach the planet without being caught? How could she do that and survive?

Because she had to. Because Janeway had given up and left Seven with no other choice.  _ We carry on.  _ What a fool. If something happened to Seven, if they were too late at reaching Naomi… It would be all her fault.

The chime to her ready room door ringed -  _ of course  _ that _ was still working  _ \- and sighed as she told whoever it was to come in.

A swish of the door and Chakotay came in, looking just as exhausted as Janeway felt. His broken arm looked back to normal; nothing too difficult for sickbay to treat and mend. She wondered if he had refused the hypospray of pain killers too.

“If that’s more bad news,” said Janeway, eying the PADD in his hands, “then I don’t want to know.”

Part of her was serious; serious enough at least to make Chakotay hesitate, hovering uncertainly on the other side of her desk. Janeway let out a long sigh and held a hand out for the PADD. Chakotay handed it over without a word.

Another report from engineering. Short. Janeway’s frown deepened as she scanned through the data. The damage was worse than they had initially thought. She pursed her lips in frustration, sensing Chakotay’s eyes on her, sensing the words he wanted to say. Words he’d already said but that had fallen on deaf ears.

“Tell Torres to focus on getting the warp core online and the shields up to an acceptable level. We can worry about the rest after we find Seven.”

“What about the transporters?” Chakotay asked. “We might need them if we’re attempting a rescue mission.”

_ If  _ \- he still didn’t agree with her, but the fact he even asked the question told her he was resigned to following her orders.

“How long until they’re back online?” A useless pointless question that she already knew the answer to.  _ Too long. _

“Several days, I’d reckon,” he said. He rubbed a hand across his tired face, as if the motion would somehow wake him up, make him more alert. Wipe the last forty-eight hours out of existence. “We need the replacement parts replicated, but the replicators are still down.”

Oh,  _ that  _ she knew. That she checked up on quite regularly, hoping they had miraculously fixed themselves and she could  _ finally _ get some coffee into her system. But her cravings weren’t a priority and the replicators remained out of order until the more vital systems of her ship could be put back together.

The five o’clock shadow on Chakotay’s face had turned into ten o’clock. When had he last taken a break? Probably some time around when she had. Hours ago, days… His face slipped into a frown, too tired to hide it in front of his captain. A familiar look. Hard words were coming. They always did with that look.

“Out with it,” Janeway ordered.

A small smile; his captain knew him too well. Maybe it was also to soften the blow. Not that she needed it. She’d been captain of her own ship for years now, a Starfleet officer for even longer. Whatever it was he had to say, she could take it.

“Kathryn…” He sighed, cleared his throat.

“What,  _ Commander?” _

He wanted to speak as a friend, but the both of them were too tired for that. He flinched a little at the mention of his rank, rebuked but determined to carry on all the same.

“The ship, the crew - we’re in no condition to attempt a rescue mission.”

Hard words. Bad words. And then there were the ones that remained unsaid…  _ you do this and you’re gonna get us all killed.  _ Words he didn’t have to say because she already knew them. Those words followed her everywhere in the Delta Quadrant. Her bad omen. But she had to try. She  _ had  _ to. For Seven’s sake, for Naomi’s.

If it had been anyone else, Torres or one of the other former Maquis, perhaps he would have been on her side. Though that wasn’t quite fair. Maybe five years ago… They’d been through too much now, all of them together. They weren’t split down the middle anymore. Weren’t Starfleet versus Maquis. They were one. A family.

And Seven was part of it. How could he not feel that way too? Was he still blinded by the Borg drone she had once been?

It wasn’t like he ever spent any time with Seven, not like Janeway did. He couldn’t see the woman she was becoming, didn’t understand why Seven had spent days poring over data, refusing to regenerate in her alcove. Why she had stolen a shuttle and went off on a wreckless mission to find Naomi Wildman on her own.

_ On her own.  _ The most un-Borg thing she could have done.

“I have to try.” If she was foolish, if he believed her to be, he didn’t let it show. Only nodded like he had expected this answer all along. But his rank, his role on the ship, had forced him to try again one last time.

“What should we tell Ensign Wildman?” he asked instead.

Something inside Janeway tightened. It was her fragile, barely held together hope, sitting in her gut. A heavy reminder that kept tugging uncomfortably on her insides. She couldn’t give that to Samantha Wildman.

“Nothing,” said Janeway. “Not until we know for sure.”

Sometimes, no hope at all was better.

*

Seven’s thoughts became one with Kovo’s. His memory became hers, sliding into her mind until she could no longer tell where Seven ended and Kovo began.

So many memories. A lifetime. Alien to the part of her that was Seven, but the part that was Kovo raged at the unfairness, cried out at those memories long believed forgotten.

A child born in the dark.

The sole survivor of a breeding clutch bombarded with alien fire. The T’Par.

Their ships came rushing down from the sky, brilliant and bright like a star, destroying everything.

And out from the rubble crawled Kovo. Bleeding and sore and alive and all the stronger for it.

_ Too far back,  _ some part of SevenKovo said.  _ Go forwards. _

And forwards they went. Rushing past memories of a troubled adolescence filled with gangs and fighting and the backdrop of war. The cold brutal murder of a life long friend and a ship that was now all Kovo’s, all  _ theirs.  _ And beneath it all - the sense that life was meaningless.  _ What is my purpose?  _ Kovo asked. And the thing that was SevenKovo echoed,  _ What is our purpose? _

To breed, but only the elite males got their own breeding clutches now. The war had taken too much. Only the best for future generations to ensure their survival.

_ I want more,  _ thought Kovo.

_ We want more. We need more.  _ And SevenKovo screamed.

Moving fowards, always forwards.

And now, a ship. From so far away, their home nothing more than a distant star.

_ Voyager. _

SevenKovo is there. They remember the thrill of excitement, the envy at so many resources just wasted on this captain and her pitiful crew. How valuable it will all be. So much money they are going to make.

They are going to be very rich indeed.

This Captain Janeway is far too easy to fool, far too trusting. It is her weakness. Perhaps her whole species is this way, although they suspect it is just the captain. There is a kindness in the captain that sickens them. It reminds them of the T’Gar and it requires all their concentration to remain polite, get through the meeting and reach an agreement for trade. Little does the captain know it is just a ruse. They will take it all, all while laughing at the captain and her pitiful offer.

The ship's shields will be easy to manipulate, the technology taken before the crew can do anything about it. They consider taking the ship as well. It would be so easy to shut off life support, let this captain suffocate and watch helplessly as her crew dies around her. But their eyes study the hull in distaste, the smooth sleek lines of the ship leave a bitter taste in their mouth. No, they will leave Janeway the ship. There is something amusing, satisfying, in imagining this captain and her crew floundering in space with no resources left to them. The captain, so gladdened by the trade agreement, by the false politeness they offer that so easily hides their dislike, even gives them a tour of the ship.

So easy.

They feign interest, all the while cataloguing the riches this lost ship from another part of the galaxy has to offer.

But then they see something far more valuable than the ship and all it holds, more valuable than ten of these Federation ships.

The child.

Just young enough. This will make them rich beyond imagining. This will make their name known to all the T’Var.

They almost laugh, watching the child with eager, hungry eyes as Janeway enthusiastically tells all how the child was born on this ship, how she grew up here. How this is all she has ever known.  _ Perfect. _ And all too easy.

Days pass and they watch and wait. Waiting for their opportunity; patient and safely hidden by their stolen cloaking device. They even walk the ship, satisfied the bio-dampener works perfectly. It’s a risk, but one worth taking. They study the crew, their routines and protocols.

And the girl. They watch the girl. So young. So perfect. And they are patient, waiting for the perfect chance. Waiting for the girl to be alone, for the crew to be busy, occupied, ignorant. The sensors are easy to fool, they have kept their presence hidden this long, after all.

There is something highly satisfying in using the ship’s own technology to grab the girl, whisk her away to the T’Var ship cloaked and waiting. The girl, once sedated, is no trouble at all and will remain this way for the rest of the short trip to Kovar. Their visual assessment of the girl was underestimated and further bioscans tell them far more about the hybrid girl. Her paternal genetics give her added strength. When the girl reaches maturity, she will be formidable. Oh yes, they is going to be very rich indeed.

Forwards again, not so fast now. 

Kavarka prison - labour camp, training ground, last stop before the great beyond - looms in front of them. Their reputation amongst the T’Var is almost non-existent but after today, after they hand over the girl, they will be a war hero, their name on the lips of every T’Var.

Kovo.

Seven of Nine.

Annika Hansen-

SevenKovo. SevenKovo. _SevenKovo._ _We are one._

The Kavarka warden is pleased with their find, impressed and curious by this strange mixed species of girl. All that is left to discuss is their fee. And what a fee it is! Richer now than all the T’Var they have ever known put together. Rich enough to secure a breeding clutch, to ensure the name and genes of SevenKovo will live on for many generations to come.

_ Finally. _

*

Slowly, Seven disentangled herself from the T’var’s thoughts. Separating their minds, finding her own, remembering who she was. Seven of Nine. Astrometrics officer aboard  _ Voyager. _ Former Borg drone. Annika Hansen, alone in her room as her parents chased a Borg cube through space.

The tubules from her left hand implant released Kovo with a faint  _ pop, _ slithering back to where they had come from.

“You will take me to this Kavarka Prison,” she ordered.

Seven could sense his protests, his mind trying to resist.

“You will comply.” Just enough of her nanoprobes replicating inside of him to make resistant futile. Kovo became a drone and she his queen. He could not resist her and would do all that she asked.

He would lead her out of this underground city and straight to Naomi Wildman.


	8. 2.4

Kavarka Prison loomed out of the dawn five kilometres outside the upper city of Kovar. Located on the top of a mountain, it would take several hours of climbing to reach the summit. Several hours they did not have.

Luckily for Seven, she had a shortcut.

The tingling sensation that always accompanied the use of Federation transporters swept its way up and down her body. Next to her, she was sure Kovo was experiencing the same thing as his features began to fade into a familiar blue glimmer. An instant of knowing nothing, of  _ being _ nothing, and then the world returned in glorious, glittering colour, the landscape now noticeably different. They were near the peak of the mountain now. Up here, the air was chiller and snapped around them like a whip. 

The view, however, was spectacular. From this height, Seven could see the upper city, now so far its mismatched pink buildings had lost their definition. Beyond the city, she could see the boulder field she had crossed when first beaming onto the planet. Even further than that, a small mass of structures that were possibly buildings; a village, perhaps.

“That is V’Nair,” said Kovo, following her gaze, their thoughts as one. She knew from the memories that were his, and now also hers, that the village was one that had been destroyed by T’Par bombardment. Another casualty in this long and pointless war of theirs.

“We must reach the prison.” Seven had turned her back on the view, on the desolate landscape that struggled to thrive under the burning twin suns. Time to climb the last few feet and reach the prison. Time to find Naomi.

Without complaint, Kovo began to move, leading the way to a sloped crevice inside the mountain and through a gap in the shields that would allow them to breach the prison. Kovo and Seven followed its path; a steep climb that made Seven’s muscles ache. She pushed through the discomfort, not allowing herself to contemplate the degradation of her Borg implants, and soon they reached the top.

The prison was a rounded building, a pink brick bleached from the twin suns and crumbling in places. Phaser turrets were stationed along its roof, but Kovo’s memories told Seven that they were merely for show. Their biggest problem would be the guards. Then, of course, actually finding Naomi within the building itself and getting out of it alive again.

Behind the building itself was a large fenced off area. The training grounds, where those prisoners destined to be soldiers on the side of T’Var were put through brutal and rigorous daily drills. Hours and hours, Kovo’s memories had told. Hours forced to move, to lift objects twice as heavy as the average male human, made to run until their feet bled, until the exhaustion tore their insides apart. And if they refused… the T’Var had a way of making sure refusal was far more painful than anything experienced out on the training grounds.

Seven scanned the area carefully. Ideally, she would have liked more time to develop a sufficient plan. As it was, she was resorting to making it up as she went along. A method she had witnessed several of her  _ Voyager _ crewmates attempt before, but not one that she had ever tried herself. A first time for everything, although she wished it could be under other circumstances.

Two T’Var in battle armour with blaster rifles at their sides manned the entrance and Seven counted four more making rounds of the perimeter.

“I’ll need a distraction,” said Seven and Kovo went on ahead of her. She had returned his blaster to him, confident that the Borg nanoprobes now swarming through his bloodstream would continue to obey her. Just enough of them for him to comply, enough for her to sense him in her mind, but not enough that they were one, a collective of two. Seven shuddered at the thought of that.

Seven watched until he had disappeared from sight and then crept her way to the edge of the building, bending low so as to be as unobtrusive as possible. Around the corner was the prison entrance; the two T’Var guards standing at ease, their gaze looking towards the sky. If they were expecting an ambush, they didn’t believe it would come from the ground. No, it would come from the sky in great starships far superior to anything the T’Var possessed. A rain of destruction that would shatter the world and all those who dwelled on it…

_ …The ceiling crumbling above, the dust and the dark and the pain and alone. So alone. Brothers and sisters lying still, cold and dead. The last to survive. The last to suffer. _

Seven’s body trembled as the memories that weren't her own continued to swirl about in her head. Not hers, but so real they may as well have been. With some effort, she pushed Kovo’s lingering memories aside, let them dwell with the jumble that was all the individuals the Borg had assimilated. Thoughts and memories that she would never be rid of, her last remaining link to a collective she was once a part of. The voice of a billion people screaming in anguish as the drones descended upon them.

Quiet, those voices usually were, but her recent link with Kovo had awakened them and she could hide from them no longer.

_ Help us,  _ most of them screamed, not knowing that already it was too late. Their voices were nothing more than an echo of the past, forever doomed and lost inside Seven’s head.

A sudden swell of anger filled Seven. The injustice of it - all those innocents, all those individuals who would never be again. And the anger spilled out. She thought of  _ Voyager _ under sudden attack, of Kovo fooling their sensors, sneaking around their ship for days undetected while he plotted Naomi Wildman’s kidnapping.

_ Never again,  _ she promised; herself, the voices in her head, Naomi… Never again would she allow this to happen.

But allowing herself to feel the anger was a mistake, because now Kovo felt it too. She sensed the apprehension grow within him. It leached across the link between them until it became absorbed in her own blood.

He didn't want to do this.  _ We cannot do this. _

It would only end in death. Hers, his, all of them. 

_ We must survive. We must return to the Collective. We must be one. _

But he was no true Borg and neither now was Seven and it was easy for her to find the strength dwelling within her.  _ I am Seven of Nine,  _ she thought.  _ A member of Voyager’s crew. I am not a drone. I am Seven of Nine, an individual. _

An individual, Janeway was always insisting, was always finding new ways for Seven to explore herself, identify just who that person was. The person who the Borg had stolen all those years ago.

The thoughts brought her strength, and with the strength came calm. She pushed some of it across the bond, weaker now as she reasserted herself -  _ you are Kovo,  _ she insisted, _ and you will comply. _

And he did, moving towards the prison entrance.

His distraction was crude, but effective. A barrage of disrupter fire he aimed towards the two guards at the building’s entrance.

Then he ran. Weaving his way back down the mountain as the two T’Var guards began a pursuit.

The way now clear, Seven hurried towards the building’s entrance. From her observations she knew she only had 22.5 seconds before the perimeter guards passed this way again. Not much time in the grand scheme of things, but plenty of time for Seven of Nine.

Inside, there were more guards, but Seven had the element of surprise and her phaser already drawn. She fired at everything that moved; her shots cold, calculated, and those most timely, born entirely of an instinct she had never once managed to create on the holodeck during a velocity game.

A T’Var launched towards her suddenly, a hopeless move to bring her down. Seven only saw a flash of green from the corner of her eye and did not even look as she fired over her shoulder. The guard went down with a heavy thump. The surprise of it would have distracted her if she hadn't been so focused on her mission, but she did allow a moment of gratitude to Janeway and all those hours spent on the holodeck. Apparently they hadn't been frivolous after all.

Only one of the T’Var remained upright, raising his claws held up in a gesture of surrender that did not fool Seven. Needing this one conscious, Seven lowered her phaser and charged, moving so swiftly the T’Var had no time to react. She forced the T’Var’s arm behind him and up, the muscles stretching and the bones cracking beneath his scales.

No time to unleash her tubules and assimilate this one's knowledge. Besides, one T’Var in her head was more than enough. The sight of his fallen comrades and the phaser digging painfully into his side was plenty of encouragement to get him to do as she wished anyway.

Alarms had begun to blare within the building. One of the guards outside must have called for reinforcements, Seven speculated. She could still sense Kovo, but the further away he moved, the weaker the bond became. He was holding his own, however; something he could only have achieved because of that clear calm Seven had pushed onto him.

Within the prison, Seven and her hostage moved past cell after cell. Some were empty, those that weren't glittered with the activated forcefield keeping the prisoners locked inside. Into each Seven peered. She saw aliens of all shapes and sizes, some familiar to her and some not. In one she thought there was a T’Var, but as they moved passed the alien jumped at the forcefield, hissing wildly, and she caught sight of the glowing yellow stripe down the reptilian face. T’Par, she realised, remembering the information she had gleaned from the planet’s ultranet system. The sharp, jutting spikes at the top of the head was a bigger give away than whatever colour bleached his scales.

More cells and still no sign of Naomi.

“Where are the most recent prisoners?” 

Her hostage grunted in defiance until Seven jabbed her phaser into his lower back.

“East block,” he spat, pointing towards a corridor on their right. “You'll never get out of here alive.”

Seven ignored him and shoved him forwards.

How long until the T’Var reinforcements arrived? She couldn’t be sure and she cursed inwardly at Kovo’s lack of knowledge in regards to the T’Var’s military strategy.

It quickly became apparent that East Block wasn't just for new prisoners. Each cell that Seven passed had the wide, terrified eyes of a child staring back at her. Some were alone, others crammed together so tight they could barely stand. All of them had the hollowed, defeated look of all hope lost.

When they saw her, they shied away, terrified of the T’Var at her side.

Seven’s grip on her hostage tightened, making him squirm in pain. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up snapping the bone. She didn’t much care. The anger burning through her like a raging forest fire on a hot summer’s day made her want to destroy them all. It burned so hot it quenched the logical part of her, the Borg part that deemed a rampage irrelevant. In that moment she was neither Borg nor human, just a being of rage that desired only revenge.

Then she saw blonde hair, human features hardened by the Ktarian heritage from her father. Naomi Wildman.

Some of the rage faded, but Seven didn’t dare let go of it all. Not yet. It was a weapon a she might still have use for. She made the T’Var release the forcefield to the cell before knocking him unconscious with her phaser.

Inside the cell was dark, grimy and Naomi cowered in a corner on the floor, eyes wide and fearful. Still wearing the same clothes as she had been that last day on  _ Voyager. _ Her skin was covered in two weeks worth of dirt but it didn’t quite mask the paleness of fear beneath.

“Naomi Wildman,” said Seven, towering over the small, trembling girl. Her cold, even voice didn’t betray the relief she felt at the sight of the young girl alive.

“Seven?” Naomi asked cautiously, as if wary that this was some sort of trick organised by the T’Var. When Seven stepped further into the cell, she flinched away, curling herself further like a startled hedgehog.

Unsure now, Seven slowed her movements, kneeling to crouch before the girl still some distance away. “Are you damaged?” Seven’s eyes scanned every inch of Naomi she could see and there were no open wounds, no obvious injuries.

In response, Naomi shook her head, but beyond that she did not move, did not seem in any hurry to escape her prison.

Aware of their limited time before the T’Var found them, Seven reached out her hand. The metal mesh of her Borg implant glinted from the light flashing in the corridor in time with the alarm. Naomi stiffened with fear.

Seven frowned. Now was not the time for fear. Nor could she dwell on the causes of Naomi’s reaction. They were not on  _ Voyager;  _ danger surrounded them and their window of opportunity for escape was rapidly closing.

“Naomi Wildman,” said Seven sharply, the command officer to a subordonate. It got Naomi’s attention, temporarily startling the fear out of her. “I will not allow any harm to come to you,” Seven promised with a softer voice. “It is time for us to leave.”

A moment of hesitation passed as Naomi stared warily at Seven’s outstretched hand. Then her smaller hand was in Seven’s and she pulled the girl gently to her feet, watching with concern as she wobbled for a moment on unsteady legs.

“We’ll be faster if I carry you,” said Seven. Faster, and this way she could be sure she would not lose Naomi again. The child merely nodded, saying nothing as Seven lifted her up in one arm.

Getting into the prison had been easier than expected. She didn’t think getting out again would be as simple. The alarm siren continued to blare, a repetitive honk that drilled its way into Seven’s head. She ignored it as best she could, carefully retracing her steps. The noise of it began to rouse some of the other prisoners. Small faces glowing eerily in the light of the forcefields keeping them trapped. All of them so young. All of them terrified.

Watery, alien eyes stared at Seven as she passed, but with each she felt a kinship, a sense of oneness that not even the Collective could match. As she passed them by, Seven forced herself to harden her heart, shelter it from the pain each of her steps stabbed through her very soul. All these lost children. She could do nothing for them she told herself. She had got what she came for.  _ I have Naomi. _

Pain, sharp and sudden, seared its way across Seven’s arm. She almost lost her grip on Naomi, stumbling to keep them both upright. But the pain faded as quickly as it had come. Phantom pain that was not her own. The nanoprobe link to Kovo had been quiet while she focused on Naomi, but now she quickly opened it, let her awareness become his.

A barrage of screams in an alien language hit her senses. Her mind reeled from it, the human part of her horrified at this invasion of alien emotion. The Borg part of her reacted automatically, ordering the nanoprobes swarming within Kovo to shut down the pain sensors in his arm, to begin repairs on the wounded flesh. Meanwhile, Kovo continued the fight, his firing keeping the T’Var guards at bay. Soon he would be overwhelmed and not even Borg nanoprobes would be able to repair the damage.

_ Retreat. _ The order was swift and Seven closed the connection without checking that he obeyed. He would. The compliance of a drone never failed.

Onwards she went. Onwards she must go, but the silent voices of the children nagged at her.

How many could she fit on the  _ Cochrane? _ Some, not all. And how to choose? What about those left behind? What fate would await them? She could not see a way to save them all and it tore something apart inside of her as easily as one tore a slice of bread in half.

Then the decision was taken out of her hands as Naomi began to whimper and tremble in Seven’s arms.

No time to think. Seven whipped around and fired, hitting a T’Var in the chest with her phaser blast.

But the T’Var wasn’t alone.

Disrupter fire whizzed past Seven’s head and she quickly dropped to her knees, letting go of Naomi and pushing her down out of sight behind her.

“Stay down,” Seven ordered, her voice becoming lost in the swarm and chaos of phaser fire.

She fired and fired, finger never letting go of the phaser’s trigger. She fired until her arm ached with exhasution, until the phaser beam sputtered a feeble blast of energy as its power reserves ran out. She fired until she could fire no more.

_ I’ve failed, _ she thought, reaching her free hand out blindly for Naomi.

And then the world exploded.

A rumble that made the building quake, made all the implants within Seven rattle. The lights flickered, went out. The alarm abruptly ceased.

_ No power. _

Which meant no shields.

In the confusion, the T’Var had stopped firing. Seven heard their hissing language as whoever was in charge uttered new orders. She ignored it all and tapped her comm badge.

_ “Cochrane, _ two to transport.”

*

The dull grey of a Starfleet shuttle faded into existence around Seven and Naomi. All was as it had been since Seven had beamed down to the planet below, hours ago now.

Seven quickly took up the helm. The tactical screen relayed too much information so fast that no human could possibly comprehend. But Seven of Nine wasn’t merely human. She was also Borg and, efficiently, she scanned through the data. The T’Var had launched scout ships, though fortunately they were not yet within reach of the  _ Cochrane. _ Though it hardly mattered. Their small shuttle was no threat compared to what else was out there.

A large starship was currently in synchronised orbit with the planet. Its specifications were not one that Seven was familiar with. Yet if she had to speculate, she would put good odds on it being one of the T’Var’s enemies they were currently locked in war with.

_ The enemy of my enemy is my friend.  _ And indeed, the starship was currently firing on the T’Var, thus keeping them away from the Federation shuttle. Whoever they were, they must have been the ones responsible for taking out Kavarka’s shields. A lucky coincidence? Seven didn’t believe so. No time to ponder it now, however.

“Naomi Wildman,” said Seven calmly, conscious that although the T’Var were currently occupied elsewhere, they would not be for long. “I require you at ops.”

Until then, Naomi had said nothing upon returning to a Federation vessel, but the chance to be useful, to act the part of a Starfleet officer, snapped the dazedness out of her. Instantly she was at the ops console, dwarfed in the chair that was meant for someone far older than she. Although that didn’t deter Naomi, who swiftly and skillfully read the data off her screen, freeing up Seven’s attention so she could focus on flying the shuttle to safety and towards whatever remained of  _ Voyager. _

But before that, she took a moment to open her senses to Kovo, still down below on the planet’s surface. He was still alive, but injured and fleeing half a dozen guards.  _ Still within transporter range, _ Seven realised. He couldn’t outrun his fellow T’Var forever. And then what would become of him, out of range of her influence? His new status as an elite T’Var would buy him some time. Enough time to weave his story of the Borg who tried to assimilate him. And those nanoprobes swimming in his blood could be useful to the war effort…

_ No, _ Seven decided. He could not be allowed to go unpunished. He could not be free to steal more children away.

Without giving it further thought, Seven input the command to the transporters. Almost instantly, the tinkle of the transporter sounded behind her and Kovo materialised in a sparkling blue light.

Naomi turned to stare at him with wide eyes, her hands frozen above her console.

“What is our shield status?” said Seven sharply and it was enough to refocus the girl.

Naomi’s attention went back to the console, although her shoulders remained tense and Seven thought they would remain that way as long as Kovo and the T’Var home planet were still within sight.

“Online at one hundred percent.”

“And their weapons?” asked Seven just as one of the T’Var scout ships chose that moment to break off from its fellows and head their way. The shuttle rumbled and jerked with the impact of phaser fire. A glancing blow that was enough to do  _ some  _ damage.

“Strong enough to drop our shields to eighty,” said Naomi with only a small amount of apprehension.

_ Good girl,  _ thought Seven briefly before focusing on their current problem.

The other T’Var had noticed them now too and two more ships headed their way, opting for this smaller, easier target. Not good.

They seemed to know exactly where to hit and soon Naomi was crying out their shield status at forty percent.

“Hold on,” said Seven, returning fire. Too many T’Var ships. She hit one only for another to take its place. A fleet of cobbled together spaceships. One looked like it had been put together from pieces of an old freighter ship and the remains of a fighter shuttle. Another was a larger starship about half the size of  _ Voyager,  _ half its hull destroyed, leaving a huge crater, that was hastily kept together for space flight by a shimmering forcefield.

_ They’re trying to surround us, _ Seven realised. Although the  _ Cochrane  _ was faster than the T’Var ships, their attack pattern was forcing Seven to circle. Too late she realised the mistake. What the T’Var lacked in speed and fancy ships, they made up with cunning.

“There’s a larger ship coming in at our starboard side.” Naomi sounded calm as if this were all just a simulation on the holodeck. She couldn’t see what Seven could, could not see the trap they were about to be ensnared in.

_ Think, _ Seven told herself and yet in all the memories and experiences of the Borg that remained in her mind were useless.  _ Think. What would Captain Janeway do? _

_ We carry on. _

Yes. Carry on home. Carry on  _ fighting. _ Janeway would keep fighting until her dying breath.

Seven’s hands began to dance across the helm console. The lights inside the  _ Cochrane  _ dimmed as she shut down all but essential systems. And all that extra power? She sent it straight into the warp core.

“What are you doing?” Naomi spluttered, a child once more and all trace of the Starfleet officer she could be gone. Clearly she knew enough about warp engineering to realise what Seven was doing. She knew enough to be terrified.

“Fighting back,” said Seven and ejected the overloading warp core just as it spiked to maximum tolerance.

Seconds until it exploded. Few and not enough. With only thrusters they would not get far from the blast. Seven rerouted the shields to the stern and did something she had never done before in her life. She prayed.

Not to something as unlikely as a God, but instead to everything that she knew to be true. All the knowledge the Borg had assimilated. All she had learned on  _ Voyager _ through her interactions with the crew, that slowly returning human side of her that was just as significant as the Borg implants, part of what made her  _ Seven _ and not merely Seven of Nine, Borg drone, one among billions. Not Annika Hansen, the lost little girl so far from home.

The shuttle jerked suddenly, but it wasn't the violent force of the explosion she had been expecting.

“Report.”

“S-someone has us in a tractor beam.” Naomi’s hands were shaking as they worked the console. “They’re pulling us away from the warp core… I think… I think it’s  _ Voyager!” _

“You think?” said Seven without emotion and Naomi checked again as the overloaded warp core behind them reached critical. The blast made the shuttle shudder, rattling everything inside, including Naomi and Seven. But the tractor beam had pulled them far enough into safety. If it  _ was Voyager, _ then it was a timely rescue. If not - then they may have just gotten rid of one problem only to find themselves in another.

The tactical console told Seven the T’Var ships were either damaged or in retreat.

“It’s definitely  _ Voyager,”  _ said Naomi with a grin in her voice. “They’re hailing us.”

Seven opened the comm channel. She had never been so relieved to hear Harry Kim’s voice.

_ “Cochrane, _ prepare for docking in shuttlebay two.”

“Acknowledged.”

As suddenly as it had grasped them, the tractor beam let them go, allowing Seven to maneuver the shuttle on thrusters and impulse. Through the view screen she could see  _ Voyager  _ hanging in space, no doubt it's vigilant crew were keeping a careful watch for any unwanted surprises. But it seemed the T’Var knew when they were outmatched and left them alone. For now.

“You did well,” Seven told Naomi.

The girl smiled shyly in response, the adrenaline from their escape quickly draining. It left her quiet in her seat and Seven - occupied with safely bringing the shuttle into  _ Voyager’s  _ bay - couldn’t stalt the fear that swiftly returned. Gone was the confident potential Starfleet officer. All that remained was a frightened little girl.

“You are home now,” said Seven and the shuttle landed with a gentle thud.  _ Safe. _ But it wouldn’t be enough. Home was where Naomi had been taken. Home wasn’t safe. Not to her.

Seven silently shut down the  _ Cochrane’s  _ systems. Still Naomi said nothing and now her attention had wandered to the back of the shuttle, watching Kovo and trembling at memories Seven wished desperately she could remove.

“He cannot harm you.”

Naomi’s fear was irrational, but Seven knew well by now that human emotions were rarely based in logic. Besides,  _ she _ could remember what it was like to be small and helpless, torn away from everything you knew and loved.

The  _ Raven _ had been her home, her place of safety. Until the Borg came. There had been no one to protect Annika Hansen. Not even her parents could.

“You’ll protect me?” Naomi asked with uncertainty. Voice small and hopeful, not yet completely broken by her ordeal. She would grow up loved and happy. She would not be like Seven, neither human nor Borg, not a drone or a victim. She would be Naomi Wildman and whoever she grew up to be would be her choice and hers alone.

“Always,” Seven promised.

It was time to leave the shuttle, to face the music as her crewmates would say. Once again, Seven lifted Naomi into her arms. She would not pass Kovo alone. And whatever awaited them outside the shuttle, they would face together.

With a slight hiss, the shuttle’s hatch sprang open. Ducking as she stepped out, Seven was unsurprised to find Tuvok and two armed security officers not far behind. His face was impassive, revealing nothing of Seven’s fate. Beside him stood the captain, who Seven found she could not look at quite yet. She did not want to see the disappointment that was surely there.

“The T’Var - Kovo - is onboard,” Seven said cooly, bretraying nothing of the unsettlement within her. “You may want to restrain him.”

Tuvok gestured to his security officers and they each clutched their phasers tightly as they moved towards the  _ Cochrane. _ Seven didn’t tell them they needn’t have bothered. The nanoprobes inside Kovo were still functioning, still under her control. He would go to the brig quietly.

What happened after that… Seven couldn’t be sure. She finally glanced at her captain then, seeking the answers, seeking the justice that she herself could not uphold. Justice for Naomi, for all those other lost children on the planet Kovar.

Her eyes met Janeway’s and in them she saw only warmth, brighter than anything else. And for a moment that was all there was. Just Seven basking in the warmth of Kathryn Janeway.

In an instant it was gone, but the cold disappointment never came, neither did the long suffering anger that Seven so often could prompt in Janeway. Instead the captain searched her face, almost like she was committing all of Seven’s features to memory.  _ Almost like she had believed she would never see it again. _ Usually, the intense scrutiny would have made Seven uncomfortable, but right then, under the bright lights of shuttle bay two, Seven was just glad to be home.

Then it was over and Seven found herself longing for the captain to look at her once again.

A voice screamed for her child and Naomi began to squirm in Seven’s arms. Seven let her go, surprised at how difficult she found the task. If she let go now… it felt like she would be letting go forever. Her heart quickened in her chest as she watched child and mother reunite. Naomi was swept into her mother’s arms, safe and loved and not alone, never alone.

_ Unlike me, _ said a voice in her head. The child that had been Annika. The child that was no more.

Eyes stinging, Seven looked away from mother and daughter and there was Janeway again, who looked at Seven with eyes that seemed to never look away, eyes that seemed to know everything.

There was a deeper meaning behind that look, Seven was sure. But she was too exhausted, too overwhelmed to begin to figure it out. She needed her alcove. She needed this day to be over once and for all.

Listlessly, she let herself be led away to sickbay; the compliant drone following its queen’s commands.

*

Chakotay had been wrong. Their rescue mission had resulted in no casualties, mostly thanks to the T’Gar. And apart from being slightly malnourished, Naomi Wildman had suffered no physical injuries.

Her mental state… time would tell on that and Janeway felt reassured that the whole crew would be there to support the young girl if and when she needed it.

Indeed, only a few hours had passed since Naomi’s return and their escape from T’Var space before Neelix was at her ready room door, pleading her permission to host a party in the mess hall. The whole crew was tired -  _ Voyager _ herself was tired - many repairs were still needed, but Janeway didn’t have the heart to deny him his request. It was a time to celebrate, to gather together and reassure each other of the found family they had become, safe and at home. At peace, for now.

When Janeway arrived in the mess hall not long after the party had started, her eyes sought out and fed upon one member of her crew in particular. Despite the room being crammed full with bodies, as most of the crew seemed to have turned up for the occasion, Seven of Nine stood out amongst the crowd. Taller than most, hair a bright golden yellow, shining like a beacon in the bright light and no Starfleet uniform to make her blend in. She looked much fresher than she had upon stepping out of the shuttle with Naomi Wildman in her arms. A check up in sickbay and several hours in a Borg alcove had rejuvenated her nicely.

She was surrounded by officers, several of whom Janeway was sure Seven had never interacted with before during her two years aboard. Each were desperate to hear the tale of Seven’s solo rescue mission first hand. Janeway watched as Seven gave short, impatient answers. Several of the officers closest to her ended up walking away, looking disappointed at what must have seemed a rather anticlimactic retelling. No doubt Seven was leaving out some of the more…  _ technical _ details. This new found respect and awe she was receiving from the crew would go flying out the nearest airlock if any of them found out had Seven had assimilated Kovo.

Janeway had read the report with a heavy heart. The way Seven wrote it, clear crystal facts and scientific explanations, unsettled her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her resident Borg’s ruthlessness. A necessary act at the time, perhaps, but one Janeway hoped Seven would not be tempted to repeat in any hurry. At least Kovo was gone - now in Gan’s custody - and the connection Seven had to him grew fainter the further apart they were. And without Seven’s influence, without Borg technology to keep them refreshed, the nanoprobes within Kovo would shut down, lying dormant in his blood until another Borg drone came along and woke them up again. Which seemed unlikely. She hoped.

“Drink, Captain?” Commander Chakotay handed her a mug of something warm. Janeway sniffed at it and grinned as her favourite scent of freshly replicated coffee filled her nose.

“I see the replicators are fixed.”

Chakotay nodded. “B'Elanna finished them a half an hour ago. I thought you’d be pleased. Oh, by the way,” he added as Janeway took her first sip “it’s Irish. We  _ are _ at a party after all.”

“We are indeed,” Janeway agreed and clinked her mug with his. She could taste the whiskey and even though it was only synthohol, instantly she felt its effects. A pleasant warmth through her blood, like a blanket on a chill fall evening draped across her limbs.

But the effect wouldn’t last and would be gone the moment she left the mess hall and headed back to work. Still several reports to write - a task she wasn’t looking forward to.  _ Thank God it’ll be sixty plus years before any admiral at Starfleet finds out we let Seven run loose. _ She knew only too well Starfleet’s views towards the Borg, and without having interacted with Seven themselves, wariness and distrust was bound to cloud their opinion.

“Captain, I-” Chakotay began, looking everywhere but at her. Janeway followed his gaze and felt her heart tightening a little as she saw Seven of Nine amongst a sea of people, looking cold and impatient. Although Janeway thought it was just an act, a mask to cover up Seven’s discomfort at so much attention.

“I questioned your decision,” Chakotay continued and Janeway held up a hand to cut him off.

“That’s your job,” she said. She tore her gaze away from Seven to look at him. “And I think we both know you had a point.”

If the T’Var hadn’t been taken by surprise, if their fleet of ships weren’t in such a sorry state, if Seven hadn’t thought of overloading the shuttle’s warp core and using it too take out several ships at once… things could have been very different. Again, Janeway silently thanked Gan and her crew. Without the T’Gar’s ship causing a distraction,  _ Voyager _ wouldn’t have been able to to pull the shuttle to safety with the tractor beam.

“Still…” said Chakotay. He heaved a heavy sigh. He had never done well when it came to confrontation with her. The vague apology, the acknowledgement that, in some ways, they had both been right and wrong, was all that was needed to put their relationship back on an even footing.

His arm was warm and solid where Janeway grasped it. “We got them back.”

He nodded and she knew the matter was forgotten, or at least it was in the past. Her first officer wouldn’t bring up the incident again, even if sometime down the line he had to step in again, felt the need to counter her orders for the safety and wellbeing of the crew.

“What about Gan?” Chakotay took a sip of his drink. “The favour we owe.”

“The favour  _ I _ owe,” Janeway corrected. Whatever came of that… it would be her burden alone. “That I’ll deal with when the time comes.”

“Well,” said Chakotay and he finally smiled warmly for what she was sure was the first time in days, “I’ll always have your back, Captain. Whatever happens.”

She returned the smile and her muscles ached because it had been so long.

“Guess I should set an example and get back to work,” he said.

Janeway frowned at him. “It’s a party, take the night off.”

“I will if you will.”

_ Touche, _ she thought as she watched his retreating form. There was a pile of data PADDs in the captain’s ready room with her name on it. And she’d been here long enough, let the crew see her make an appearance. This party was more for them anyway, and she had no problem admitting that they would damn well enjoy themselves more without their captain breathing down their necks. She drained her coffee, which was less Irish than she would have liked, nodded pleasantly to several passing ensigns from engineering before making her way over to the Wildmans.

Understandably, Ensign Wildman hadn’t let her daughter out of her sight since her return to  _ Voyager,  _ and every now and then she would glance around the room with suspicion, as if some menace lay in wait amongst the shadows to take the child from her all over again.

_ Not again. _ Now that they knew how Kovo had fooled their sensors, it was a simple task of modifying the ship’s systems to compensate. Simple, so Harry and Seven had assured her and no doubt they had Borg technology to thank for that.

“Captain,” said Ensign Wildman, straightening to attention as best she could while seated and with her daughter in her lap.

“I’m just passing through,” said Janeway and was glad to see the ensign relax slightly. “How are things?”

Wildman glanced at the girl in her lap. Naomi, for her part, was still and quiet and even Janeway, who'd had limited contact with the girl, knew this was uncharacteristic.  _ Physically fine, but it’ll be a long road ahead until she’s back to the Naomi she was… if she even can be. _ Some things changed a person forever and there was no stopping it.

“As expected,” said Wildman and seemed to clutch her daughter to her more tightly.

“Anything you need,” said Janeway, “just ask.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Wildman smiled gratefully. She had all she needed right there in her arms.

Music had begun playing. A light, speedy tune that Janeway thought might be 21st century in origin. No doubt Tom Paris had something to do with the playlist, she decided, spotting him clearing a space by pushing some of the tables to the side. When he had roughly a square spaced out in the centre of the room, he pulled Torres towards him and twisted her around in a way that looked vaguely like a dance.

“C’mon, Harry,” Tom cajoled and, his cheeks smarting red, Harry Kim nervously asked the nearest female to dance with him. One of the security officers, who giggled girlishly as she accepted and let Harry lead her towards the makeshift dance floor.

Soon, other officers were dancing too. They paired off with ease, as if they had done this a hundred times before and knew the routine by heart. As Janeway watched, she saw the small looks, the smiles and the caresses, the way one would pull the other just that little bit closer.

When had so many of her crew paired off? And why, instead of pleasing her that so many of them had found some semblance of happiness out here in the Delta Quadrant, why did the sight of it fill her with a sadness that made her heartache?

Mark had been the last to hold her like that. Not that he ever took her dancing.

She tried to bring his face up in her mind, that easygoing smile that had her hooked thirty seconds into their first date, those  _ eyes. _ Hard as she tried, she couldn’t do it. It had been so long, the memory of him was fading, this part of her that had been so important once but no longer even entered her everyday thoughts.

Without her, he’d moved on. The news had stung at first. But, if pressed, Janeway would have to admit she had been relieved. He wasn’t her responsibility anymore. His heart had become someone else’s burden and she could freely focus on what mattered most. Getting home.

Did she miss him? She thought she did. In the beginning, she missed him so much she couldn’t sleep. But now… it wasn’t so much him as the  _ idea _ of him, of having that someone she could always rely on, whose arms she could fall into at night when the day had all gone to hell.

_ At least they have that, _ she told herself, watching as Tom dipped B’Elanna low in his arms and bent to kiss her. B’Elanna’s hand tried to push him away, only a light press as his arms were the only thing keeping her off the floor. The sound of her laughter floated across the room and by the time it reached Janeway, it was the perfect lyrics accompanying the music piping from the ship’s speakers.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned away.  _ A captain is devoted to her ship and her crew, _ she reminded herself,  _ me more than most. _ But the thought was hollow and cold and she didn’t feel much like a Starfleet captain tonight.

By now most of the crew had paired off or were mingling in small groups. Janeway searched for the largest, most animated one that would no doubt be Seven and her new admirers. Yet the largest group she could find were a group of engineers, huddled in one corner, their heads bowed as they discussed something. Every now and then there would be a raucous cheer and someone would down their drink. Janeway smiled absently and let her eyes pass over them. There was no sign of Seven anywhere.

“Another drink, Captain?” Neelix had appeared at her side, clutching a half empty glass of something a deep shade of purple. The something had a strong aroma and judging by Neelix’s tinted cheeks and the way he swayed ever so slightly on the spot, she thought the purple drink might be one of Neelix’s exotic liquors, probably acquired the last time they had stopped off somewhere friendly. Neelix had a knack for charming a bargain when it came to food and drink.

“No, thank you. I was just leaving.”

“Noooooo,” said Neelix and hiccuped so dramatically his whole body shuddered with it. “It’s a party, Captain. Stay! Drink! Dance!” He swung an arm around her shoulder and gestured wildly at the dancefloor, the liquid in his glass sloshing violently up the sides.

“I’d love to,” said Janeway, trying not to grimace in Neelix’s grip, “but I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Psssh,” slurred Neelix and for the life of her, Janeway couldn’t work out if he was actually saying something or had resorted to mere noises to get what he wanted. “Burn it, no one will ever know.”

Janeway suppressed a laugh and began to disentangle herself from the Talaxian, being careful to make sure his feet were steady now that he no longer had her to lean on. When Neelix remembered this in the morning -  _ if  _ he remembered it - he was going to be a trifle embarrassed. Janeway was looking forward to reminding him of this moment in great detail. Well, she did have to get her kicks somewhere.

“Another time perhaps.” Quickly, Janeway stepped out of his reach and made a beeline for the exit before anyone else could accost her.

_ Paperwork, the captain’s constant companion.  _ The thought of it and the long night ahead in her ready room almost made her weep.  _ It won’t hurt to leave it for tomorrow, _ she decided, her feet already taking her in the opposite direction of the bridge.

Where she was going, she didn’t know and she felt restless as she stalked the empty halls of her ship. The thought of her own quarters was unappealing - too quiet and lonely they would be - but neither could she go back to the mess hall. Somehow, being amongst so many people seemed worse.

Then an idea struck her. A quick command to the computer and she knew where to go. Knew where, but the  _ why _ remained elusive.

It was rare on  _ Voyager  _ to find the holodecks empty. Always the crew booked their time in advance, ensuring an hour or more of photonic bliss that made all forget just where they really were, if only for a little while. Tonight though, they were empty. Neelix’s party and the promise of some real alcohol was entertainment not to be missed. Or, at least, the holodecks should have been empty.

The red light outside holodeck one indicated it was in the middle of running a program and when Janeway checked the panel, she wasn’t surprised to find it was one of her own.  _ Becoming quite the habit, _ she thought with a smile and let herself in.

Da Vinci’s workshop met her on the other side. A chaotic clutter of genius. Holographic Italian sun shone through the windows, fighting back some of the gloom. What it couldn’t dispel, the roaring fire in the hearth took care of.

“You’re missing quite the party,” said Janeway by way of greeting.

Seven of Nine didn’t turn from where she stood by the fireplace, staring intently at the flames that shrouded her in an unearthly glow.

“I am not in the party ‘mood’.”

Janeway smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes and soon fell flat. She glanced around the room. “Did you delete Da Vinci again?” The holo program felt strange without the maestro there to talk of his latest designs.

“No,” said Seven. And then, after a moment of silence: “I did not wish to be alone. He simply grew bored and then enticed by the promise of fine wine and a beautiful Italian sunset. His words.” 

“He likes his wine, our maestro,” said Janeway lightly. None of that lightness seemed to penetrate Seven whose shoulders remained stiff, her voice far too cold.

“Did you come to punish me, Captain?” Seven asked abruptly.

Surprised, Janeway took a step closer to the fire. She could not see Seven’s face and it was hard for her to judge what Seven was thinking, what was hidden behind the words so forceful. “Do you think you should be?”

“I stole a shuttle,” Seven pointed out. “Disobeyed your orders. Abandoned my post.”

_ And not for the first time,  _ went unsaid between them.  _ And probably not the last, _ Janeway added.

“And if you were Starfleet, I’d be putting this in your file. Maybe even be considering a demotion in rank.” She took a seat on the cold marble fireplace and craned her neck up at Seven. “But you’re not Starfleet.”

Maybe that was the problem, though. Without the uniform, Seven would always be set apart from the rest of them. It wasn’t just the Borg implants that made her different.

But, Janeway had to admit, she preferred it that way. Not all the time, just those rare occasions where the Starfleet way had no place out here in the Delta Quadrant. Those times when Seven could do what needed to be done when Janeway herself could not.

But where was the line? Where was the disapproval and fear she should be feeling at the thought of Seven so easily assimilating another living being?

Her trust in Seven, the growing fondness she had for her… it blinded Janeway in a way not easily noticeable to herself.  _ But Chakotay saw it.  _ Saw it and warned her and she had ignored him anyway.  _ Next time we might not be so lucky. _

Behind her, the fire crackled merrily, indifferent to the tumult of questions and worries that swarmed within Kathryn Janeway’s head. It was no true fire, though, and burned cold. Seven must have turned off the heat modifiers.

“I’m not going to lie, Seven. I wish you’d come to me about this.” Janeway was willing to take some of the blame for that though. She and Seven had crossed swords so many times she could hardly fault Seven for assuming she would go against her this time too. Still, when it concerned another member of her crew… “I would have hoped by now that you would be comfortable in coming to me. That you trust me, even just a little.”

Something about the way she spoke, or maybe just the words themselves, made Seven look up at her sharply.

“I do,” murmured Seven. She was silent for several moments, still and pale like a statue. Then, as if to prove it, she carefully lowered herself to sit next to Janeway by the fire. So close their knees knocked together.

Janeway could feel the heat off her, pressing into her side and she was suddenly glad the fire was as cold as the empty vacuum of space outside the ship’s hull.

By now, the faux Italian sun had set, stealing all of the light from the room. The fire roared, basking half of Seven in shadow. From what Janeway could see, features that were so familiar to her, so perfect, so right - because and not in spite of those Borg implants - were now softened by a vulnerability that didn’t belong to someone so strong.

“There’s something else on your mind,” Janeway guessed.

One of the first lessons Janeway learned as captain was how to be patient. This was one of those times and she sat quietly, listening to the crackle and spark of the fire as the logs burned in the calm Italian evening and waited for Seven to gather her thoughts.

She had an inkling of what might be going on it that Borg head, but experience had told Janeway forcing the issue would only lead to that infamous Borg stubbornness. Seven was more likely to open up in her own time and Janeway was more than happy to wait.

When Seven’s precise voice shattered the silence, Janeway’s attention was immediately on her. There was a softness in the way Seven spoke, an openness that made Janeway feel grateful and honoured to be the one that Seven had chosen to confide in. Something glowed warmly inside of her at seeing Seven with her guard let down, but it was a fragile glow that could be so easily extinguished.

“The children on Kovar,” Seven said slowly, carefully. Janeway could tell this was going to be a difficult conversation. Not that any of her talks with Seven were ever particularly easy.

“The T’Gar will make sure they get home.” Gan had all but promised it. And with Kovo now in their custody and his more compliant nature thanks to Seven, there was a wealth of information Gan could gleam about the T’Var home planet that had been unknown until now.

_ Not our fight, _ Janeway had to keep telling herself. As much as she wished she could liberate the T’Var prison herself,  _ Voyager _ was in no shape to take on a whole planet.  _ I’m trusting the fate of all those people on an alien I barely know. _ It did not sit well for Janeway, but she found some comfort in remembering Gan’s talk of honour.

“It’s not that,” Seven said sharply. “They could not defend themselves. Could not stop it from happening. I-”

Now Janeway wished for the fire to be real as ice cold water ran through her veins. She could guess exactly where Seven’s mind had gone. That past of hers she had been trying to outrun for the last two years. It was catching up and the finish line was nearing. There would be no winners, Janeway thought.

“You couldn’t stop the Borg from assimilating you,” Janeway said sadly. She tried to picture that girl Seven had been, but all she could see was the woman in front of her, alone and terrified in a way that felt like a phaser blast to her gut.

There was a slight jerk as Seven flinched, attempted to cover it up with a sharp nod of her head. She didn’t look at Janeway, instead held her eyes firmly up at Da Vinci’s flying machine as if it was there she would find all her answers.

“I am having… difficulty with this,” Seven admitted.

Even saying it, Janeway knew, was taking a lot out of Seven. Without thinking about it, Janeway found Seven’s hand in her own.

“I know,” said Janeway. It surprised them both when Seven didn’t pull away, just looked down at their joined hands.  _ She needs human contact, more than she will ever admit to herself, _ Janeway thought and then:  _ just  _ who,  _ exactly are you referring to, Kathryn? Because it seems you’re the one who needs it more tonight. _ “These feelings - guilt, pain, helplessness… they are all part of being human.”

“What if I don’t  _ want _ to be human,” Seven snapped and Janeway felt her heart break a little. She raised her gaze to meet Seven’s and those eyes were the ice cold blue of a frozen glacier. Anger was melting them a little though, and with it, the pain unleashed. A river breaking its banks and going wherever it pleased.

“Too late,” said Janeway.

She had seen it so many times before, eagerly devoured books and holonovels where the characters slowly began to lose their humanity. The birth of a villain. With Seven it was the opposite. This once cold hearted Borg drone was now a young woman whose heart was fast becoming more open, more full. And more vulnerable.

_ But not alone. _

Janeway would make sure of that. She could never give Seven back the collective mind, the one voice of many. Instead, all she could offer was an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. A hand to hold.

It was that hand in hers, warm despite that harsh looking implant covering it, that prompted what happened next.

Nothing more than a gentle squeeze, the thank you that Seven couldn’t express in words, the need she had for someone else that she was perhaps not quite ready to admit. The tiniest gesture, but for Seven it was huge.

Her other hand moved, slow but sure. Janeway caught sight of it from the corner of her eye, this vague awareness that the hand was her own and yet it was out of her control, outside of her body, doing what she could not.

Fingertips traced the fullness of Seven’s lips. Beneath them, the flesh was warm, trembling even. Janeway could feel each of Seven’s breaths as if they were her own.

_ Has she ever been touched there, beyond a babe suckling at her mother? _ Janeway didn’t think so and the thought of being the first, of being the only made her heart speed up in her chest.

Her fingertips tingled from the touch, like she had gotten a little bit too close to the warp core, the radiation lashing out at her, but not unpleasantly.

And when Seven didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away and demand to know just what the hell her  _ captain _ thought she was doing, Janeway found herself leaning closer. And wondering how they had found themselves in such an intimate setting, alone by the fire that didn’t burn hot and yet the room filled itself with the heat of a thousand burning suns.

“Captain,” Seven uttered softly as Janeway closed the distance.

It had been a long, lonely five years in the Delta Quadrant and Seven’s lips tasted of promises and home, soft and warm against Kathryn’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading over the last few months. This is the last chapter in the first part of a twelve story series (and I do hope to eventually write them all and give answers to some things that have been left open from this story). The next story is called _Flesh and Bone_ and I will hopefully start working on it later this week.  
>  Hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it - Kes.


End file.
